These Endless Days
by Evangeline1920
Summary: S2 and Christmas Special AU - When Matthew returns to Downton for Christmas 1917, sparks fly between him and Mary, who is now engaged to another young officer and a familiar face. Despite the presence of their fiancées, the cousins can not deny the love they still feel. Will they be allowed to act on it, or will their hearts be broken all over again...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers: I do not own. Downton Abbey is Julian Fellowes' baby. **

**A/N:** I finally got to post my multi-chapter S2 AU story that I worked on for a while now.

It's quite long and I shall try to post regularly. There'll be a lot of angst, paired with a lot of fluff and the rating will be appropriate for later chapters, trust me ;)

Now, I feel that I ought to explain a few things beforehand...

First off – Lavinia. You'll find a very, erm, shall we say different Lavinia in this story. Partly because I had no clue what Matthew's fiancée would be like when I started writing, I only knew her name before S2 started. I debated whether I ought to rewrite her, but then, the story would not be what it is now and I admit I had rather too much fun writing her more kick-ass and less meek. Apologies to those who love sweet!Lavinia, I just couldn't bring myself to change her, so she's become one of the AU elements.

Secondly, the war will feature a lot in this, even if we're not initially in the trenches. But the thing is, I always wished that we could have seen more of the effect that the war had on Matthew and others, because it _must_ have, whether JF chooses to show it or not. So we'll also see a rather more afflicted and emotional Matthew in this story. And tbh, seeing the way he fusses in S3 now, it may not be so far off the mark :)

Let me know what you think and reviews would be lovely! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

* * *

**These Endless Days **

**I. **

"_Dearest Mary, _

_How odd not to be home when the Christmas bustle starts at Downton. And how I miss you and Mama and Papa, Edith and Granny. Of course the hospital work is keeping me occupied and there is lots of company around here. You know Aunt Rosamund keeps inviting those odd acquaintances of hers. The Cartons had been here last week, with their children. Little James smashed a tooth out while jumping up and down the furniture. Aunt R has had about enough of them. Miss Swire wasn't too amused either when Sylvia spilled Mousse au Chocolat on her dress, then smudged the rest onto her little brother's face. Lavinia said: 'When Matthew and I have children, they won't be quite as naughty." Please don't be mad at me, but I simply had to tell them about the time when you and Edith took Papa's ink and painted my face blue with it, so we could play that I had typhoid. Nobody wanted to believe it here. They must think you were a perfect angel when you were a little girl. Please, don't be mad that I told them. On a more interesting note, guess who turned up for a call. Miss Swire just came in to tell me Evelyn Napier has arrived in town. He must be on a stop-by before he comes to Downton. But you probably know that already. I haven't got any more news for you, I'm afraid. We shall go and see 'The Nutcracker' at the Gaiety tomorrow night and I'm rather looking forward to it. How I wish you were here with me. It is so dull with Miss Swire as company. Of course there's Matthew, but he is rather dreary these days. Understandably. How is Edith doing? Tell her I'll write to her next time. Please give my love to her, Mama and Papa and Granny of course. Write to me soon. I miss you terribly. _

_Your sister, _

_Sybil Crawley_

_P.S. Matthew does too, I believe._

_S.C." _

A cloud of cool breath escaped Mary's parted lips and blurred the frosty window next to her flaming cheek.

"Does too..." she whispered, unbidden images of last spring invading her mind.

A warm April day, on a surprise visit to Cousin Isobel to sneak some news of her son.

Then a shock, Matthew in his officer's uniform, standing awkwardly in the small drawing room. Molesley serving tea, looking uncomfortable.

Then her. Her. _Her!_ Small and slender, flaming red hair, done up in an elaborate hairdo.

And her eyes. Green, piercing, scrutinizing. "I'm Lavinia Swire...Matthew's fiancée" she had introduced herself, as neither Matthew, nor his mother could find their voices.

In Mary's opinion, that was exactly what identified them as middle-class. Aristocrats know how to function even within the most awkward of social hellfires.

Mary had played her role to perfection. Smiling, she shook the offered hand, introduced herself with her full title and exchanged pleasantries that rose in her throat like bile and laid in her stomach like lead.

Even know she didn't know how she had managed to get home in one piece, sneak into the house and up to her bedroom where she had wept so hard and long until the pain dulled and she felt quite numb.

That's how she felt even now, many months after the incident, the thought of Matthew and his engagement always triggered a self-defensive chill inside her, an instant mechanism to shield herself from the painful impact that a broken heart had on her.

With some satisfaction, she noted that Matthew must have had a bit of a shock himself on that day, though Mary never quite understood why or even what right_ he _had to be upset. It must have been the war affecting him and she felt genuinely sorry for it.

She had written to him about Evelyn's proposal a good while ago, and never received a reply.

Of course he had never replied to any of her letters since 1914.

Given that he was happily engaged now, Mary would have thought that he had made his peace with her, that he had let go of all the resentment and pride.

That's what broke them, her stupid hesitation and his idiotic pride.

Or so Mary had thought up until last spring.

Evidently, Matthew can't have loved her so very much, if he found it in his heart now to replace her with the likes of a Miss Swire!

Mary hastily stuffed Sybil's letter back in the envelope, ripping it half to pieces in the process.

No, there was not much love lost between them. And it was all so very irksome.

If she had made an effort to keep it together on that fateful afternoon in April, she would have expected him to do the same.

But there had been no change in his demeanour towards her, rather the contrary.

The loftier and friendlier Mary had acted, pretending to be charmed with Lavinia, pretending to be happy with her own prospects, the darker his moods had become.

Edith, barely able to contain her glee, would tell Mary later: "Do you know, I believe, he's finally grown as sick of your pretensions as the rest of us are."

Mary, barely able to contain her rage, had merely smiled and said: "Perhaps you are right."

She had long learned to reduce her conversation with Edith to polite small talk and disarming bluffs, having decided that she could never again trust her sister with a single emotion or thought, not after Edith's betrayal.

And since messing with Mary's head was one of Edith's favourite sports, she had soon given up on it.

Mary closed her eyes and swallowed hard, her head leaned back against the inside of the vast window. In her mind she was already drafting a response to her sister.

You are mistaken, Sybil, utterly mistaken. He doesn't think about me anymore. He doesn't care.

He is happy without me, as happy as he can be in this dreadful war...

Why would he so much as waste a thought on me, when he's got _her_ now.

Surely, Miss Swire was his perfect counter part, she belonged to his familiar middle-class world after all, and she was sweet and pretty and _simple_.

Isn't that what all men want in a wife?

Mary stifled a small sob and crumbled the envelope in her hands.

Bitterness was settling over her like a cold shroud.

"Oh there you are! Mama's been looking for you...heavens, why are you crying?"

The curtain had been drawn back with a harsh pull, causing Mary to jump in surprise, too stunned to cover up her tear-stained face.

Edith stared at her sister with an unreadable expression. If it was concern, she hid it better than Mary could hide her tears.

"I'm...tell Mama I'll be there in a little while." She jumped from the widow sill and started for the door, but stopped before exiting.

"I've had a letter from Sybil. She sends her love."

Without a backward glance at Edith, Mary left the room, the letter clutched in her fist.

Edith was left to stare after her, pleased and disturbed in equal measure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II.**

White pawn and black queen.

Could a white pawn ever make it over the field, beat the black king and take the queen?

Matthew Crawley should probably have minded the position of his rook instead of contemplating such depressing and rather unsubtle analogies.

Napier had him already checkmated. In every sense of the word.

Oh yes, he'd been a patient, waiting for the right time to strike.

Napier had taken his queen, his one true love...

Only that she had not loved him, had she? Not with her whole heart...

Mary's interest in him had been calculating, a means to get what she truly wanted and loved

- Downton and the Countess' coronet.

Matthew frowned at the ivory chess pieces in front of him.

No, he had been right to leave, he had done it to save himself, to protect what remained of his sanity. He had to forget her, to rip the very thought of her out of his brain.

Admittedly, the war had served him well in that sense. The horrors he witnessed on a daily base, being occupied every day with the basic instinct to keep alive, it all left little space for romantic dreams of unattainable Ladies.

At least in broad daylight, where he had to be in control of everything. Always in control.

At night, Mary Crawley's face, her voice, the smell of her skin, her hair, the sound of her laughter, the soft curves and angles of her slender, feminine figure...the very idea of her preyed upon him, tormented him.

When he laid in the dirt of the trenches, in every unguarded moment, whenever he allowed his mind to wander even for the briefest of times, memories of her would flash before his eyes.

Some were sweet, some were absolutely maddening.

Surely he was cursed. A mad fool, so in love that he could not even forget this woman after three terrible years of not actually seeing her face. Mary had bewitched him, entangled his soul in her...

Matthew? Aren't you done yet?"

He startled and looked up to see a young woman towering over him, the light from the electric lamps casting a strange hue on her strawberry hair.

Lavinia's green eyes looked sharp, signalling mild annoyance. She sat down next to Matthew, before the gentlemen had a chance to rise.

"Well, the last round didn't take very long now. I'd offer you a re-match, _dear cousin_ Matthew, but Miss Swire appears to have you otherwise engaged already."

In a daze, Matthew looked back at his chess partner who had spoken. In a ridiculous posh accent.

Captain Evelyn Napier, Mary's fiancé. Handsome, heroic, high-born and well-bred.

Still, Matthew recalled that Mary had not thought dearest Evelyn all that alluring when they had both courted her years ago.

And now, all of a sudden, he's become the world to her.

Matthew emptied the last of his port, suddenly aware that he had had a good few that night.

Maybe that's what annoyed Lavinia, causing her to leave the Ladies' party in the drawing room to seek him out in this cloud of cigar-smoke.

"You've quite finished me off, Napier. I give up." He laughed without a hint of mirth.

Lavinia blew into the air impatiently. "Great. Then come back and join us."

Evelyn, equally bored with Matthew's brooding gloom, got up and stretched.

Matthew, swaying slightly out of his chair, raked his eyes over the figure of his secret rival.

Not too tall, but athletic. A good horseman. Paired with his attractive aristocratic features, it was not too far-fetched to think Mary would fall in love with him after all.

"Are you alright, Cousin Matthew?" Evelyn said, real concern swinging in his nasal voice.

Matthew looked away quickly, to hide a whole range of emotions that threatened to make a show on his face.

'Cousin Matthew' he had called him. Just like Mary to teach her fiancé to call him cousin.

As if Napier were already his cousin-in-law.

Well he wasn't! And that being the case, he rather tried to pretend that this day would never come.

"I'm fine. Maybe too much food at dinner. Not used to it in the trenches." he tried to joke, but neither Evelyn nor Lavinia laughed.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Sybil came in.

Matthew groaned inwardly. He was trying to pull himself together and there goes Mary's sister, who may not have a close resemblence to her, but enough to inspire taunting memories of his broken heart.

"Aunt Rosamund would like to know where everyone is better come into the drawing room." Matthew nodded curtly and followed his youngest cousin into the next room.

Perhaps she would tell more stories about Mary's childhood without him having to explicitly ask for it.

* * *

Yeah, I'm not a chess expert. Neither is Matthew apparently :) Thanks for reading and reviews would keep me ever so happy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III.**

It was a little over a week before Christmas.

Lord Grantham was fidgeting uncomfortably at the breakfast table.

The ancient clock on the mantlepiece chimed. Nine o'clock.

Surely one of the family will be down any minute now.

He took another bite off his buttered toast and put it down again. It had gone cold and chewy.

"Something wrong, Milord?" Carson asked, peeking worriedly over his Lordship's right shoulder at the discarded triangle of bread.

"Not at all, Carson. I'm not hungry this morning. But, I'll have some more tea."

And perhaps a Brandy to calm my nerves, he thought.

"Certainly, Milord."

Before the cup was filled, soft footsteps became audible and Lady Mary appeared through the parlour door, heading straight for the buffet tables.

"Good morning, Papa. Morning, Carson." She threw a quick smile at both men, then took a good portion of eggs and pudding before sitting down to eat.

Through all this, Lord Grantham had nervously patted the left breast pocked of his suit.

He had to tell her, even if she'd shoot the messenger.

"Mary, darling. There's some news I'd been meaning to tell you..."

In that instant, Edith strode in, in an uncharacteristically good mood.

Lord Grantham wasn't sure it was fair on Mary to divulge this news to her with Edith around. It would certainly do nothing to soften the blow. If only Cora came down. He could do with a bit of support.

"What is it, Papa? Is it bad news?" Mary asked, her dark eyebrows creased in concern.

He didn't even know what would be the appropriate answer to that, yes or no?

Suddenly, Edith's smug expression slipped considerably, replaced by concern. "Papa?" He looked from one daughter to the other, their eyes boring into him.

"Alright..." he sighed, crumbling under pressure. "I've just had a telegram from Mr. Napier. He's on his way here for Christmas."

Mary and Edith exchanged a glance.

"Yes, I know, Papa. He wrote to me a while ago, saying so. I thought I told you. And why is this news so discomforting to you?"

Robert Crawley squirmed some more, but it had to be said. "He's bringing some...guests."

Edith laughed at that.

"Heavens, Papa, the war really has put you out of sorts. We can do with a few guests at Downton. It's been a while since we have entertained here." she said, getting excited at the idea of new faces.

New male aquaintances would surely not hurt her prospects.

Mary had become very still. It may have been the look in her father's eye when he said the word 'guests' or some bad premonition, but she suddenly knew exactly who would be spending Christmas at Downton.

"Matthew." she clarified, her voice gone hoarse. She cleared her throat in a bid to compose herself.

"Isn't it? You can tell me, Papa. I know it already."

Lord Grantham was slightly perplexed at his daughter's perceptiveness. He himself had been taken by surprise at this new connection between Mary's fiancé and his heir.

He felt more at ease at her words. The worst seemed over.

"You're right, dear. He's invited Matthew and Miss Swire to come with him."

Edith's eyes slowly lit up with excitement. If Mary was upset, her face did not betray it.

She took a sip of tea and nodded.

"Well...it's a bit short-notice, but we'll manage. When are they to arrive?"

Lord Grantham smiled tentatively with pride. She was bearing it like the strong girl he always knew he had.

"He writes..." he pulled the telegram out of his breastpocket and examined it. "...they will take the train from King's Cross tomorrow morning. That means, they should make it for tea. Oh, and I forgot the good news. Sybil and Rosamund are to join them."

He closed with a genuine smile now, truly happy that his youngest was coming home for the holiday.

"That's wonderful!" Edith exclaimed. Mary smiled, pushed her food away and rose from the table.

"I shall tell Mrs. Hughes right away. Give them time to prepare." She stood very erect, and there was something oddly hurried in her walk.

Robert sighed profoundly. "Edith, what do you think? Will Mary be alright or should I try and cancel the party?"

Edith took her time to answer, looking outside the window at the light snow falling softly onto the window ledge.

This might well be the last time that she had the power to influence her sister's fate, and the first time to do so in a positive way.

"I think...she will be fine. It would be more humiliating for her to cancel it. That would only lead to questions." she determined, feeling that whatever happened this Christmas season would effectively change all their lives forever.

For better or for worse. Let the Christmas games begin...


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV.**

Ripon station was rather more crowded than usual, people scrambling to get home or leave for another, only a few days up to Christmas.

The London train had just come to a stop and people were exiting, minding their steps on the icy, snow covered platform.

Sybil craned her neck for the car, wondering _who_ might be there to pick them up.

Hoping, perhaps more so than wondering.

It was Taylor, their old chauffeur, who greeted them next to his Lordship's car.

Sybil bit down hard on her lower lip. _He_ wasn't here.

"Get in, Sybil. Go on. We're cold!" Rosamund chided, pushing her niece into the backseat of the large vehicle.

They had to drive slowly, due to the bad weather conditions. "Aye, it'll get worse over the season, they say." Taylor replied when Evelyn enquired about the snow. „Well, good thing we'll all be warm and cosy at home." commented he.

Matthew winced and glared for a second. _Home_. It was _his_ home, not Napier's.

"Matthew, are you alright?" Sybil whispered, sitting right across from him.

He blushed, having been caught in his stream of uncharitable thoughts.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you." he said, trying to sound gentle, when he didn't feel like it in the slightest.

How come he had agreed to this? Well, that was not quite the way to put it.

He hadn't agreed to anything - No, he had been the one to suggest it.

What devil had possessed him to ask Napier?

He knew that he was always welcome at the Downton Abbey, no doubt about it, but he had tried to avoid visiting in the past. However, when Napier had announced one evening that he would spend Christmas at Downton, Matthew had flipped a little.

"I can't wait to see Mary again, it's been too long without her! But we'll have all Christmas to make up for it." Evelyn had boasted a few days before departure at a gathering for officers in London.

They were just playing pool and upon hearing this, Matthew thrust the cue so hard, three balls were flying off the table.

Evelyn and his friend Lord Stockbridge snickered.

"You never were good at this game, Crawley." Stockbridge quipped as Matthew scrambled to collect the balls, and himself. He felt mildly sick.

"Will you be a large party at Downton this season?" Stockbridge wondered idly, addressing Evelyn.

"No, no...just family. I've been meaning to ask Lady Sybil if she doesn't want to accompany me. I'd say she deserves the break after slaving away at that hospital all year. She meant to stay here with her aunt, which doesn't sound too cheerful." Napier shook his head vaguely.

Matthew was fuming silently. He knew it was silly, but he could not fight the notion that Napier was acting as if he owned his entire family. And Mary.

"I'm sure Lady Sybil would like that. In fact, I've been thinking about going to Downton myself over the holidays." The words had burst from Matthew before he knew it.

Evelyn looked politely amused and Stockbridge asked shrewdly,

"Now that you mention it, Crawley, we've been wondering why you should never visit there, seen as the estate is entailed to you."

Matthew shrugged. "I've been busy. There's a war going on, if you haven't noticed, gentlemen."

He said with a sarcastic smile. They all laughed bitterly at his bad joke, and the horrid truth in it.

"Hear, hear." Evelyn said darkly, toasting him with his glass of brandy.

Matthew grabbed his own and took a hearty sip.

"Well, I would be delighted if you'd join me, Captain Crawley. You and your charming fiancée. I shall cable Lord Grantham tomorrow to ask if they would mind some more company. They will be thrilled, I'm sure." Napier announced, smiling benignly at his future cousin-in-law.

Matthew grimaced and threw back the last of his drink, satisfied and terrified at the same time.

He felt the same way in the car now, slowly edging nearer and nearer to the estate that would be his one day, and the woman who never would be.

The thought was still as painful today as it had been when she had first broken his heart.

It still felt like sharp stab in the chest, like a cold fist that coiled around his heart. Holding onto it. No question about whose fist it was, pale and soft...

These thoughts were dangerous, he knew, but it served just as well to steel himself against what was still to come.

Spending all of Christmas in one house with the woman he loved, the man she was going to marry, the woman he had agreed to marry and the family he did not want to let down.

Taken all of this together, it seemed like the single most self-destructive act he had committed in a while.

And he's been to war, for God's sake.

"Oh there! I can see it!" Lavinia exclaimed, pointing a gloved finger at a dark shape in the distance, hard to make out in the snowy whirls outside.

Sybil eyed Matthew's fiancée with slight distaste. Of course she had only got to know her a week ago, and sometimes people improve on closer acquaintance. But Sybil still could not shake the feeling that Lavinia was not as sweet and naive as she made out to be.

What will Granny will say to this woman who would inherit her title one day. Will it really come to that? It all seemed so terribly wrong.

Sybil's eyes wandered over to Matthew again, who looked as if he were in pain.

She would have to find a quiet minute to examine him properly later on.

It could not be shell shock, he'd been perfectly composed in London only yesterday.

Either he was sickening or something was eating him up from the inside...

"Here we are." Taylor announced, slowing the car to a halt at the front entrance to the great house.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V.**

Anna and Daisy sat down with a slump, happy to be back in the servant's hall after nearly ten hours of hard and hurried work.

The tea was just ready and Mrs. Patmore kindly opened a jar of biscuits for them, trilling: "I say, well done, girls. I must admit, I didn't think you'd make it in time."

Anna smiled weakly and wiped her temples with her sleeve. Who would have thought it was possible to sweat in the midst of December.

Bates came in, followed by Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes.

He wordlessly took the seat next to Anna, and put a hand on her forearm in a gesture of reassurance.

Here comes the verdict, Anna thought, too tired to really worry at this point.

It wasn't necessary either way. Mr. Carson smiled benignly, almost like Father Christmas.

"Indeed, Mrs. Patmore. It fills me with pride to say that everything has been prepared to her Ladyship's full satisfaction. She would like to give thanks to you all who have worked hard to get the house ready for entertaining in such a short space of time."

Daisy glowed with joy, having little experience with praise, and rather too much with reproach.

"His Lordship's guests are scheduled to arrive in the late afternoon, so you may take a break until tea time. And perhaps freshen up a bit for the formal welcome." Carson suggested more strictly.

Anna laughed and said half-loud "A hot bath perhaps?" Carson ignored her, knowing she was in jest.

"You ought to change now, or you may catch cold in a draft. Go on, Daisy." Mrs. Hughes said.

"I'd rather have tea first. Where's William?" Daisy said, looking around. "He's done really well, too. He's helped me a lot." Daisy had become fiercely protective of William, who was cast down by his father's refusal to let him join the war.

"Oh, never mind him..." a hard female voice hissed from the corner. "...there's trouble coming back into this house. Nobody seems to mind that." Ms. O'Brien said, pausing dramatically before taking a generous sip of tea.

"If you're referring to Captain Crawley's return, I'm glad he's back. Alive. So is his Lordship." Mr. Bates said earnestly, but with the hint of a smile.

"Yes." said Anna, warming her clammy fingers on the hot tea cup. "He knows what it's like to work for a living and the inheritance hasn't gone to his head. He surely doesn't mean to be trouble to anyone." And yet, she hated to admit that the old bat O'Brien might have a point as regards Lady Mary.

"- although it's not to say there might not be trouble after all." she added quietly.

Daisy, who had been about to devour a raisin biscuit, looked up worriedly. "What you mean?"

Mrs. Patmore rolled her eyes.

O'Brien seemed rather taken aback that Anna of all people should second her.

"Her Ladyship has said it herself. As long as the Manchester lad was gone, Lady Mary was happy with Mr. Napier... and now he's shoving his barrister nose back in here and as if that wasn't enough, he's draggin' some London girl along with him. I say, there'll be hell to pay this Christmas, mark my words." O'Brien said, sounding as doom-laden as she could manage.

Anna wished with with all her heart that she could disagree.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI.**

Dressing for tea had become its very own version of limbo. For everyone but Edith.

Cora was pacing nervously in her bedroom, fumbling with the bow at the back of her silken belt.

"Please, don't get me wrong, Robert. I'm thrilled to have them, I just didn't think it was fair on the people who work here to put them under so much pressure shortly before Christmas. And may I remind you, it was _your_ dear mother who suggested they should arrive after the Christmas Dance, so as not to upset seating and food arrangements." she said, eyeing her husband half reproachful, half amused.

He was smiling. "I know, Cora. And I'm in awe at how you've managed to arrange it all. The staff will get an extra gift this Christmas. It's all been settled."

He stood from where he had been sitting and put his hands on Cora's shoulders in a gesture of tender mollification.

"I love you." he whispered and kissed her deeply.

It was almost 28 years since they had been married, and thirty since their engagement. Yet, both still felt as if they would never tire of one another.

If only their daughters were so lucky to find the same love and devotion in their marriages.

If they ever got married in the first place, that is.

Edith was certainly keen enough. Unfortunately, eligible gentlemen were scarce since the war and men who were interested in a rather plain, embittered middle daughter with no inheritence were practically non-existent.

Sybil, who was pretty and vivacious, but rather too rebellious and modern in her thoughts, showed more interest in politics and medical care than matrimony.

A pity, since she was the daughter who still had the best chances of marrying well.

Mary was all set with Napier, though he wasn't exactly a match for her, personality-wise. Though he was undoubtedly decent, there was also a certain dullness about him. At least that was Mary's father's and grandmother's opinion.

Cora sighed. Robert didn't know about Mary's indiscretion, the reason behind her sudden fall from social grace.

Evelyn Napier was definitely the best she could do under circumstances.

If only things had gone differently and Mary had taken Matthew when he'd asked her.

But that ship had sailed a long time ago.

"What are you thinking?" Lord Grantham asked his Lady, noticing the dismay on her face.

"I'm thinking...Matthew is back. How different things would be if Mary had..." she did not need to finish.

"Shhh...please don't..for Mary's sake, we mustn't even see it that way anymore. She's stubborn and she made her own decision. We may not like it, but it's not our place to interfere." he said quietly.

Cora nodded. "Yes. But the idea of him bringing this other girl here."

In all honesty, Robert did not relish a reunion with Lavinia Swire anymore than his wife, but she was to be Lady Grantham one day, wherefore she deserved their respect and kindness, if not their affection.

"I can only hope that my mother will behave..." he worried quietly, and Cora broke into laughter, a burst of mirth he was glad to have elicited, if only to diffuse the tension.

Outside, a car engine could be heard, muffled by the white noise of the falling snow.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N. Thank you so much for the reviews! It's lovely to get positive feedback, motivates me to update regularly. Promise! So here's the last chapter for today, but it's the longest so far. Enjoy!

**Chapter VII.**

Matthew had steeled himself upon entering the grand house, his future estate.

Until then, it still had the effect of a holy place on him, not so much for its own grandeur, but for what was sitting inside it.

He vaguely wondered what she might feel in anticipation of seeing him again.

Was she as nervous as he was, as impatient and yet terrified.

How could he possibly be perspiring in this arctic climate?

In the hallway, the footmen came to relieve them of coats and hand luggage. He barely heard Lavinia's praise over the splendour of the impressive hall.

"This way, if you please." Carson said, indicating to the main hall, where all the household staff was assembled to one side, and the family a bit closer to the fire place.

"Captain Napier! Matthew! Welcome back!" Lord Grantham said, bursting forth to shake hands with them.

Likewise, Sybil sprang forth and kissed her father on the cheek.

"Papa! I've missed you!" she said, the joy of reunion plain on her face. Matthew had tried not to peek, but his eyes had disobeyed him and sought out the figure of Mary Crawley, draped in a black gauze dress, standing tall and elegant between her mother and sister.

She did not look at him. Her eyes were on Napier, who came to kiss her hand.

"There you go, my darling. I promised you, I'd be back for Christmas."

She rewarded him with a smile, genuine but oddly tense.

"The way I recall it, Mr. Napier, you promised me the war would be over by Christmas." Mary said, her voice not nearly light enough to be teasing. Napier chuckled nevertheless.

"Not quite what I said, love. I promised you'd have me back by Christmas and I..."

To Matthew's amusement, Sybil had unceremoniously pushed aside Evelyn Napier to embrace her sister.

Could it be possible that this woman had grown even more beautiful during the war years?

While everyone else had lost weight and looks, Mary had bloomed into womanhood.

Now that he was looking at her properly, Matthew noticed everything.

Her hair was still a mass of chocolatey lustre on her head, though she wore it differently now. Her face was just as perfect, as bright and rosy as years ago. Her brown eyes, darker than the night, were momentarily dancing with joy at seeing her little sister.

Most people had grown rather gaunt and care-worn during war time. He himself had lost his boyish roundedness, had become tough and hardened by the years of battle and life in the trenches.

God, she was beautiful, he could not control the way his eyes would roam over her soft curves, the way her breathing made her chest rise and fall or slight parting of her lips as she listened to her sister's words.

Without warning, he felt a sharp surge of unbidden desire. He exhaled, as if he'd received a punch. This was not appropriate.

But by God, they could not have developed anymore differently.

Whereas he looked like the living-dead, a soldier, war-weary and haunted, she was full warm-blooded life itself.

What was more, she seemed genuinely happy next to Evelyn Napier. Her hand rested on his arm.

Matthew blinked quickly, fighting against the all too familiar bite of jealousy. He could afford none of that now.

"Matthew, how wonderful to have you back home, safe and sound!" Cora said, reaching out her hand.

It took about a split second too long for him to rip his eyes off Mary and react to her mother's kind words of welcome.

"Ah, yes...thank you very much, Cousin Cora. I'm glad to be back...home." he added, with a wry smile.

Was it his home, he still didn't know...

Lord Grantham was just busy introducing Lavinia to the staff, assigning Ethel to take care of her during her stay.

Staff members eyed her rather curiously, all of them aware that they were introduced to their future mistress.

When he turned around again, he jumped.

Mary was standing in front of him, closer than he had been to her in three agonizing years.

Up close, he did notice some very slight lines around her eyes, the only indication that she may not have been so unfrayed by the war as he had believed.

Somehow, perhaps only to him, those lines made her even more beautiful, adding a brilliant warmth to her features, especially when she smiled, as she did then.

"Welcome home, Cousin Matthew." she said in her perfectly polite voice.

"Thank you." he replied rather stiffly and took her hand.

The touch of his care-worn hand on her soft fingers made Mary's heart thump wildly.

Their eyes locked in shock for a split-second, as if an electric current was running through them, from one's flesh to the other and back.

Mary did her best to compose herself, to keep her countenance.

She had watched him with her parents from a safe distance and what she had seen deeply disturbed her.

Was this her Matthew? The blonde, jovial Matthew, round faced and gentle...

Not anymore. He had lost his puppy-dog appearance entirely. Of course, he would have grown thinner, she had already seen it last spring.

His floppy blonde hair was sleeked back very accurately, and oddly darkened, suggesting it rarely saw the sun. His face also appeared sharper, harsh and set, as if his jaw was locked in perpetual tension.

Yet, the most disconcerting change was in his eyes. Mary had very likely fallen in love with Matthew's eyes the moment she had met him, back when he would still look at her with a mixture of hopeful adoration and timid awe. Like a little boy who saw a firework for the first time...

He did not have that look in his beautiful blue eyes when she stood in front of him now.

It was something else entirely, far more intense.

A haunted look, almost frightening, as if his eyes wanted to tell her something desperately, but were brutally restrained from it.

"Tea is served. Shall we go into the drawing room?" Cora interrupted and led the way, one arm draped around her youngest daughter.

Polite conversation ensued over tea. Matthew mostly talked to Robert, inquiring after the estate and the village.

All three men studiously refrained from discussing the trenches in front of the Ladies, saving the horrors of war for until after dinner.

"Tell us everything about London. How is my aunt? Have you gone to many social events?"

Edith asked, addressing both Sybil and Lavinia, who sat perched next to Mary, looking uneasy.

"I still work in a large hospital in Westminster. The things I've seen there were quite gruesome, but it also opened my eyes to..." Sybil stopped upon seeing her mother's face.

"Please, Sybil dear. Must we talk of hospitals now? I'm sure there were more pleasant diversions in London than giving medical aid."

Mary couldn't agree. "Don't listen. We're proud of your work. It's not for everyone to be so selfless and unfazed at the sight of misery."

Sybil smiled at Mary, grateful for her support.

"I must agree with you, Lady Grantham. There were more appropriate diversions for us, but it has all become rather gloomy." Lavinia said to Cora.

Before anyone could react, Carson entered. "Milord, the Dowager Countess of Grantham and Mrs. Crawley have arrived."

Lavinia turned a delicate shade of green. She did not particularly like Matthew's pushy mother and from all accounts, the Dowager Countess was a dragon, who was likely to snub her.

Isobel embraced her son heartily, never minding social graces.

For the first time that night, Mary saw a glimpse of the old gentle Matthew when he kissed his mother on the cheek. This furtive display of affection pained her more than she allowed herself to admit.

Dinner was served and to Matthew's surprise and delight, his mother had not exaggerated when she wrote that Cousin Violet and herself have become quite friendly of late. Their joined efforts for the village and the war must have brought the two unlikely women together after all.

Conversation flowed easily between people who had not seen each other in a while.

Lady Grantham questioned Sybil about London and Aunt Rosamund's salon.

Isobel was delighted with Sybil's efforts on the medical front and asked about new treatments.

Edith was quite taken with Lavinia, for various reasons. They appeared to share an interest in all things Mary detested, from extensive shopping tours at Harrod's to plum pudding.

Her father, Evelyn and Matthew were discussing military statistics, while her mother mercilessly joined in the older Ladies' cross examination of poor Sybil.

Mary felt alone in a room full of people.

She pushed the braised beef around on her plate, feeling unable to eat in his presence, despite being hungry. She caught snippets of conversations, all of which seemed dull and insipid to her.

"...we saw this darling set of china, a rosebud pattern..."

"Dear me, in my days, chloroform has only been used by women on unwanted kittens."

"Molesley said that nearly all tickets have been sold for the Dance. I dare say it's quite a success."

"..no, no, I hear that Jones had been assigned to another regiment..."

She was about to give into her urge to get up and excuse herself with a headache, when she noticed a full plate on the other side of the table, as untouched as her own.

When her eyes rose up to the person who sat behind it, she froze.

Matthew was staring at her.

After a shocked second or two, both averted their eyes.

How long had he been looking? Mary blushed furiously, so much so that Evelyn leaned over to her and whispered gently: "Are you that happy to see me, my darling?"

She smiled at him, whispering back, "Ohh..don't flatter yourself, darling."

When he cocked an eyebrow, she added softly,"„A Lady should always exhibit exactly three-quaters of the joy shown by her suitor at a reunion...regardless of how much she actually feels."

Evelyn laughed out loud and Mary's blush returned. She had meant to tease him, of course, but not for him to make a spectacle. Everyone was looking at them.

Violet pursed her lips and Edith, reliable as always, said loudly, "Really, Mary...what stories are you telling Mr. Napier? We could all do with a good laugh."

Mary glared at her sister for a second, then smiled again. "Merely the rules of etiquette we've been taught at Lady Sutton's School in London..._if_ you recall any of it."

Evelyn still looked as if he had just heard the best joke in a long time.

"I must say it is quite reassuring to know that young Ladies learn to employ a sense of mathematical estimation in their behaviour towards gentlemen."

Lord and Lady Grantham chuckled politely, as did Miss Swire, who thought it wise to blend in with her future relatives.

Matthew's face was drawn, out-glowering even the Dowager Countess herself.

Unlike the rest of the party, he had heard every single word Mary had whispered to Napier.

Through Robert's low murmur about army stats, Cousin Violet's lamentations about modern medicine and Lavinia's somewhat nervous chatter, Mary's voice, speaking so quietly and gently, had sounded like a beautiful and long unheard song to his ears.

It resonated through the room, painfully taunting, because her sweet teasing words were not meant for him. She was telling her fiancé how much she had missed him.

Matthew swallowed hard. And Napier, the undeserving fool, was laughing about it. He did not understand her meaning at all...

Sybil for her part, was offended.

"And what is so funny about a woman applying mathematics in her daily routine?" she wondered. "It's certainly not our fault we are taught uselessness by governesses or at finishing school. If more women were to attend university, we would have more female scientists or economists or politicians..."

The Dowager Countess coughed and sprayed half a glass of Grenache over her lilac taffetta dress.

Cora, who had been ready to reproof her youngest child any second now, looked relieved.

"Oh my dear, are you alright? Here, have another napkin. Carson, we need a second plate for Lady Grantham."

But Violet Crawley had composed herself quickly. "No, no. Don't bother, Carson. I've quite lost my appetite. Let it not be said that I'm unqualified to _economize_ with my dinner.

Sybil knew better than to be stubborn and press the matter. Instead she patted her grandmother's arm and said, "There, there, Granny. You know, I'm just talking. Times are changing so much, we just can't help moving with it. No need have an argument about it tonight."

Robert smiled at Sybil, thinking she had grown up rather fast. There was a time when she would have made a scene at the dinner table.

It was Mrs. Crawley who had the good sense to introduce a new topic. "I agree, there are more pressing matters at hand. We had just been discussing the Charity Dance. Molesley had been so kind to organize the ticket sale for us and happily people had been very generous."

Mary looked relieved at the change of topic and smiled, truly delighted about the success of their little cause. "That's wonderful news." she agreed.

Matthew noticed the change in Mary's demeanour, how her face was glowing happily in the soft lights of the candelabras. More lovely than Matthew had ever remembered her.

Evelyn took her hand and pressed it briefly to his lips, so quickly that the gesture went nearly unnoticed.

The dull ache in Matthew's broken heart, usually sedated by the horrors of war, burst into a full-fledged pain, so intense he felt his stomach clench and sweat break out on the back of his back.

Trying his best to ignore it, he took a liberal swig of wine.

Thankfully, the women thought it best to move into the drawing room for further discussion of ball related issues.

William served Scotch to the gentlemen. Matthew made sure he didn't drink too much, despite the sudden despair he felt.

Anything that made him loosen his tongue or shortened his temper would momentarily be more perilous than a walk in 'No Man's Land'.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII.**

Mary was pacing. From the fireplace, where it was decidedly too warm, to the window, where a bitter cold draft made her shake inside her silken dress.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes every time she recalled how he had sat across from her, silent and cold.

And the way he had introduced his fiancée to them, one hand on the small of her back. Protecting and guiding her through their future home.

Lady Lavinia Crawley - Countess of Grantham.

Mary lost the battle with her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks, down her chin and unto the skin over her aching heart.

She tried to compose herself, focus on the moon outside, which was not quite full yet, but crystal clear in the cold of the night.

The door opened behind her with a mild creak.

"May I come in?" It was Anna, come to help her undress.

For a moment, Mary considered sending her away, but then recalled she was wearing a bothersome dress with many buttons on the back and she didn't fancy sleeping in her corset either. Not if she wanted to walk upright tomorrow.

"Yes...I...close the door." she said, hastily wiping at her eyes.

"Oh, Milady...you really shouldn't stand by the window in the draft. I've brought you some hot chocolate."

Mary turned around, suddenly and strangely cheered by the small gesture.

"Thank you." She came and sat on the ottoman at the foot of her bed and accepted the cup, that Anna had poured for her, gratefully.

"I suppose, there is no need to tell you why I'm...upset." she said, laughing quietly despite herself.

"From what I've heard, you're not the only one who is." Anna said. Mary looked at rather confused.

"Ethel said that Miss Swire was none too happy that Captain Crawley did not bid her goodnight and that she thought he was behaving most bizarrly this evening."

Mary shook her head in disbelief. Who would talk so frankly to a complete stranger?

"Of course...it wasn't very kind of Ethel to pass it on..." Mary observed, trying to look stern.

"Of course." Anna conceded, equally serious. They burst out laughing at the same time.

With a creak, the door opened again.

"I'm sorry to interrupt." Cora closed it behind herself and stood leaning against it, unsure how to proceed. She had not expected Mary to be in such a good mood at this precise moment.

"Glad to catch you in such high spirits...I was worried..." Cora said, but a closer observation of her daughter's features made her realize that her motherly instincts would never fail her.

She sat down on the bed heavily, feeling exhausted with concern. Mary was quiet, while Anna helped her out of her dress and her mother looked on for a minute, unsure how to begin her prodding

"It seems as if Evelyn is more and more taken with you, every time he sees you again." she tried.

Mary smiled and frowned at the same time, unsure where her mother was going with this.

"I saw Matthew look at you a great deal, too."

It was lucky Anna had just released the last hook on her corset, so that Mary could quickly hide her face inside the crisp white night gown, before Anna had a chance to hold it up. She purposefully struggled a bit to pull it over her head, until Anna helped and released her hair to cover her blushing cheeks. Cora took this uncharacteristically awkward scene to mean she had hit a nerve.

"It's no use, Mary. You're both settled with others. But his willingness to come here, and his obvious interest in your welfare can only be a good sign. It means, you can always rely on Matthew later in life. You may still be friends after all."

Mary swung around, sudden anger firing up inside her. For a second she was too furious to speak and only stared at her mother, accusing her with her eyes.

"I know you mean well and you're worried about my future. But Mama, let me tell you once and for all, I will _not_ be Matthew's charity case. I'm not his warden. I chose Evelyn to be free of all this. To escape this sad little drama about the entail and my...indiscretion."

She paused, watching her mother flinch at her last word.

"And not to stay here and watch my home and my inheritence go to a man who despises me...and to his ignorant little wife."

By the end of her tirade, Mary sighed deeply. Cora was glad she got Mary to relieve her heart, though she was by no means satisfied.

"Mary, I understand. But if you're saying this marriage will be your escape..." She didn't know how to phrase her concerns without upsetting Mary any further. "..what if...God forbid, something were to happen to Captain Napier? He's fighting in a _war_, Mary. Nothing is safe anymore. Shouldn't you at least try to make peace with Matthew? I've said it before, and I know you hate to hear it, but what if you _do_ need his support one day after all!"

Mary was shocked for an instant. Her mother's words had sparked off a terrible fear that she tried to ignore with all her heart these days.

She hated to even contemplate the very possibility of something happenening to Evelyn.

To her infinite shame, Mary had to admit that secretly, while she was still able to contemplate the horrid possibility of her own fiancé's fall at the front, she was absolutely incapable of putting Matthew into the same scenario. Her brain would not allow it. Matthew simply _must_ be kept safe.

Mary stood rigid for a moment, then sat down on the bed.

"I'm sorry, dear. I should not have talked of it." Cora whispered before she took Mary's white face between her hands and kissed the cool cheek.

A moment later, the door closed softly behind her and Anna.

Once alone, Mary pulled the covers over her head and finally let the tears fall freely, weeping for everything she had lost and whatever she may still come to lose.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX.**

It was almost midnight.

The Ladies were already tucked into bed, while the Gentlemen were still up discussing recent developments and current affairs.

Matthew felt exhausted and restless at the same time. He had been secretly been hoping they would join the women again at some point, but Robert and Evelyn were so engulfed in their politics that they quite forgot the time.

He knew that Lavinia would be put out with him for not saying goodnight.

The shameful truth was, he only desired to see one face again before he went to sleep. And it wasn't his fiancées.

He wondered at Napier, showing no such inclination. Matthew's hand closed tighter around his glass of brandy. Finally, the clock chimed.

"Ah, twelve already..." Robert turned halfway in his chair. "Heavens, we've been talking all evening." Robert looked at Matthew while he said this.

Ironically, Matthew thought, for he had been the opposite of chatty in the past few hours.

There was something more in Robert's gaze, though. Something inquisitive and impatient. And even though it did not seem hostile, Matthew felt unsettled by it.

"Actually, during dinner, I had the idea of showing you something...but I would not bring it up in front of the Ladies."

Both Evelyn and Matthew looked surprised for an instant, then intrigued. "What is it?"

Robert hesitated, still unsure whether it would be prudent or even a good idea to show them.

"It's too late now. I'll show you another time." he veered off quickly, again into Matthew's direction, getting up as if this settled the matter.

They parted at the first landing. Evelyn and Matthew turning right into the Bachelor's corridor and Robert heading left for Cora.

Being away from Downton for such a long period of time, Matthew had forgotten how ridiculously serious the servants took their job.

Molesley, who had come over with Isobel for Christmas he guessed, dutifully followed them up the stairs. As did Holborn, Napier's valet. Both servants looked bleary-eyed. They must have stayed up and waited until this late hour.

"Sorry about that, Molesley. You should have gone to bed, instead of waiting up. I could have managed on my own..." Matthew began, but noticed the look of offended pride on Molesley's face.

He smiled apologetically and the valet looked appeased.

"I'm sure you could have, Sir." he muttered sleepily as he helped Matthew out of his attire.

When he was alone again, Matthew opened the covers and crawled inside in his underwear.

He simply wasn't used to sleeping in anything but his uniform at this stage and for some reason, he had the urge to feel the soft, silken touch of the fine bedlinen on his skin. The sensation of a clean, soft bed was so rare these days that he relished it.

Even though he felt exhausted from the stress of the day, sleep would not come to him. It was too quiet for one who was used to sleeping through the sounds of shelling and granates. Matthew closed his eyes with a frustrated sigh and opened them a second later in alarm.

Behind his mind's eye, he had seen it again. White flashes, red flashes. A thousand faces of death, of mangled corpses, drowning in their own blood. Cold sweat broke out on his back and forehead.

It did not happen very often, mainly when he was not active, when his brain relaxed.

And all he could do then was to allow another surpressed, a more potent image to appear in his mind. The thought of her alone could drown out the cries and chase away the horrifying images. So he conjured her.

Mary. Sitting on their bench outside. Laughing into her napkin at the dinner table. Dancing at Sybil's ball. Sparkling brown eyes. Rosy lips, parted invitingly, the taste of strawberries. And freckles. Freckles. So many freckles, he wanted to count them like the stars on a clear night sky...

Matthew knew that it should, it ought to be Lavinia's face that would chase away the horrors of war. But it wasn't. It never was. The guilt he felt about this had gradually ceased with time.

Lavinia had known what she took on when she accepted his proposal. He had never lied to her on that account, making it clear from the beginning that he was still reeling from a previous attachement. She had brushed it off, insisting that time would put it in the past. Matthew had not corrected her then, hoping at the time, that she might be right.

But time had nothing to do with it. Nor distance. It had no power to dimish what he knew to be his one great love. During his first two years at the front, Matthew had been secretly hoping that Mary was waiting for him, imagining that she might have loved him enough after all, that he could still come back to her when the war was over.

All that flew out of the window, however, in 1916. Shortly after the Somme, he had seen fit to contact some of his lawyer colleagues in London, in need of a specialist's help. He'd wanted to draw up his own last will and testament, but alas the entail made it rather more complicated and so he was referred to an elder solicitor, who had more experience with such complex cases.

Reginald Swire had studied at the same law school as himself and he quickly felt at home with him. At the same time of his visit, there had been another guest to the Swire house, an old acquaintance of Swire's politician brother. Matthew remembered the day as if it were yesterday.

They sat in the parlour, having tea. Sir Richard Carlisle, owner of six newspapers, and a million pound industry behind it, had just returned from a most pleasant visit at Clevedon.

There, he tells them, he met the most charming young Lady. Witty, sharp and fearless, he had described her. Beautiful too of course.

When Lavinia asked after her name, Matthew's tea cup rattled so loudly he had to put it down.

Lady Mary Crawley, who, Carlisle was not shy to say, appeared to take a great interest in him as a person. In fact, he was invited to stay at her father's estate in Yorkshire in one week's time.

The next day, before his departure, Matthew had proposed to Lavinia and she had accepted it.

No, he did not blame Mary. Nor did he regret asking Lavinia. He was fond of her, and she had been there for him on that fateful day, when all his illusions and hopes for the future had crashed down around him. He had needed her affection, her admiration and her willingness to take him for what he was. Nothing more, nothing less. There may not be so much passion in his feelings for Lavinia, but where had all his passion led him in the past? Not into a blissful marriage, that's for sure.

Having someone so sweet and kind waiting for you at home certainly did make it easier to bear the burden of this war. And before last April, Matthew had been almost able to imagine himself to be cured from his devotion to Mary. It must have been the greatest act of self-deception in history.

Matthew felt sick for a moment and turned onto his side. The window was illuminated by the half moon.

Oh God, he should never have come back to this place. Never.

And what had he been thinking, proposing to a girl he had only known a week? Lavinia was a lovely girl, she deserved a man who loved her with his whole heart, who thought of her at night, and not of another! A man who loved and desired another woman was not a proper husband, he was a scoundrel and he betrayed her with his heart already! It was betrayal to even think of Mary!

Matthew moaned quietly and turned around, facing away from the moon and its taunting eyes, looking down at him accusingly, as if he were the greatest fool that it had ever cast its milky light on.

Time to stop being a fool right here and right now, he though viciously as he finally closed his eyes.

Mary was engaged to marry Napier, to be the wife of an Earl's son. That's how it was always meant to be and he was meant to marry a sweet good-natured middle-class girl. Everything was settled as it ought to be.

What right did he have to question it all now, at two in the morning, after three years of war and separation?

What right did he have to wish for things to have been different?

They never would have been. Mary never loved him.

All she cared about was the preservation of her status and money, lots of money. His love did not matter to her. Perhaps she did not even truly love Napier and he was only a means to, like he himself had been at one time.

Really, he ought to pity the man, not envy him!

With a final groan, Matthew punched his pillow into a satisfactory form and thrust his head impatiently onto it.

At any rate, he concluded, he was lucky if he survived the coming months. He ought to concentrate all his thoughts on that, and not on a woman who probably did not even care if he lived or died.

Matthew slowly drifted off under a feeling of trying to wrench something out of his own chest. And to no avail.

Like clockwork, the nightmares of the trenches transformed into scenes from last night. Sitting at the dinner table, watching her intently, until her eyes found his and the scene froze...

He woke up the next morning, grim but rested, with no recollection of his dreams whatsoever.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter X.**

When Matthew entered the dining hall in the morning, he found only Lord Grantham sitting comfortably hidden behind his newspaper. Matthew sat down next to him.

"Good morning." he greeted, looking somewhat forlorn at the empty seats all around him.

Robert lowered the Times and stared at his young cousin. "You're up early. I didn't expect anyone to join me."

Matthew smiled. "Well, I don't mean to disturb you."

Robert put down the paper entirely and shook his head, amused.

"Not at all, Matthew. I'm only surprised."

Matthew stood and went for the kedgeree and pudding. "I've always been an early bird, but the war makes any thought of sleeping in impossible." he commented as he sat down, looking once more forlorn at his plate.

"I see. No need to explain. I can imagine at lot of things in your life have suffered from the war, not just your sleep." said Robert, and a passing thought from last night suddenly returned to his mind.

"Actually, when you're finished with that..." he pointed at the plate in front of Matthew.

"...I'd like to show you something." Matthew looked up, a portion of kedgeree in his mouth, having wondered about that last night, when Robert had brought it up.

He swallowed. "You're making me quite curious. What is it?"

Robert got nervous and peeked around the corner of the dining room entryway.

"You'll see. Er...you haven't seen Napier up and about, have you?"

The mere mention of Mary's fiancé was sufficient to make Matthew lose his appetite.

He swallowed hard on his last bite and took a sip of tea. "Ah, no. No, I haven't. Why?"

Robert got up, even more nervous. He felt like a little boy again, about to do something secretive and deliciously aware of the danger.

"Right then. Follow me." Matthew went after him into the next room, they crossed the library, and entered a door at the very back of it. Matthew had never paid particular attention to this part of the house. It did appear out of use.

"Now, this is something I ought to have shown you years ago, being part of our family as you are."

They stood in a large room, long and high-ceilinged, with windows at one wall and a vast collection of paintings on the other.

"It's the gallery...or rather the great collection of the Crawley family." Robert said, opening the curtains at the window side.

The morning light shone in, illuminating the large paintings as well as the small photographies that seemed to cover every inch of the room.

Tables with glass cases held more miniatures and items in every corner.

Matthew stood in awe. "I...I never knew about this."

Robert laughed. "Of course not. We don't ususally show it off. It's more of a private storage room than a representative gallery, but I believe that I should have brought you in here years ago."

Matthew stopped short in front of a large painting that depicted an incredibly beautiful young woman with dark brown hair and transluscent skin, wearing a white musslin dress and a diadem.

_Lady Mary Crawley, 1910._

"Mary's debut in London." Robert commented, amused at Matthew's predictable reaction.

"Ah." Matthew commented drily and tore his eyes away to look at Robert.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" he said, almost accusingly.

"Not exactly..." Robert replied, then beckoned him over to a glass case. "Come, have a look at this picture."

Matthew bent over the glass and saw a large old photography of a family gathering.

Adults stood in the background and a group of children were playing in the front.

Matthew almost had to laugh at the ridiculous image of a blonde boy in a suit kneeling awkwardly on the ground with a small girl clinging to his back, her long dark curls quite dishevelled.

It took Matthew about two seconds to recognize those perfect, doll-like features, those black eyes, dancing with joyful mischief...

"You were playing horse." Robert said with a fond laugh, seeing the dawn of realisation on Matthew's face.

"Or rather, Mary _made_ you play horse. I'm sure you'd have preferred to play with the other lads."

Matthew's head was spinning, trying in vain to remember this scene from the past.

"When?" he mumbled, his nose so close to the glass that his breath started to cloud it.

"It was my father's sixty-fifth birthday in London. He had us invite everyone in the family, perhaps feeling that his time was up soon." Robert mused.

"Mary had just turned five, and you must have been about nine years old. Your father was still alive. I'd discovered this picture in one of the boxes a few months ago.. I've been meaning to show it to Mary...but I didn't know how she would take to it."

Matthew finally looked up and straight into Robert's eyes, trying to read something in them.

Some hint perhaps. He thought of asking why he would show it to him then, but somehow Matthew knew already.

"The parallels are almost comical." he said, smiling despite himself.

"Comical, and very telling, I believe." said Robert, slowly walking along the wall, streamed with pictures of his family's long history.

"You know very little about Mary, Matthew." her father observed quietly.

That struck a chord.

"Not for lack of trying, as you well know." Matthew countered somewhat sharpishly.

"Oh I'm not blaming you. To be fair, I myself sometimes feel that Mary is hard to read and that I as her father have done a poor job in getting to know her fully." Robert had stopped in front of another painting. Matthew fell silent, curious what would come next.

"We had this painted by Singer Sargent. It's always, well...disturbed me." Robert pointed up.

The large canvas in front of Robert showed all three daughters. Sybil was sitting in the front, a mere toddler happily playing with a toy in her lap. Edith stood to the very left, cast in full light of a window, a pretty red-haired girl with a radiant smile, she was curtsying to the viewer.

"Where's Mary?" Matthew asked, confused for a moment.

"Look closer." said Robert, nodding upwards.

Mary stood in a pitch-dark recess, the opening to a hallway. She faced away from the painter, even her profile was partly obscured by her open hair. Somehow, she stood leaned against a gigantic chinese vase, the very image of a sullen child.

More so, she looked utterly and heart-breakingly forlorn.

Matthew didn't know what to make of the painting and decided to be silent.

"Mary was almost twelve at that time. We were in London and everyone's eyes were on her, even years before she came out. She's always been exceptionally beautiful, you know, people were crazy about her."

Matthew winced slightly at the term 'crazy' Apparently, he wasn't her only victim...

If the other photo was anything to go by, his nine-year-old self had already been a complete fool for the toddler Mary...like putty in her pudgy little hands.

"Bet she loved that." Matthew mumbled bitterly.

"She hated it." Robert said, replying to his own strain of thoughts rather than Matthew's.

"You see, if there is something that Mary must resent, it's her birthright, because it really isn't giving her any rights at all. Only duties." Robert reflected. "Being the eldest, all the attention had been on her since she's been born. And all the pressure along with it. To strike a suitable, respectable match and function as a perfect woman in society. Imagine _you_ were expected to be perfect every single day of your life from birth until death. To never allow yourself a single flaw or glitch, in appearance or demeanour..."

Robert shook his head at his own words, as if he had finally come to understand this peculiar painting of his three children, after years of puzzlement.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter XI.**

Cora had decided to take her daughters, Rosamund and Lavinia for a trip to the village, where they would inspect the old hall, which was currently being prepared for the ball.

"Matthew told me it is the most charming village. I understand he's worked in Ripon and lived here before the war." Lavinia exclaimed, observing her surroundings with much attention.

Mary decided to make a conscious effort to be nice to Lavinia, so she smiled kindly and said, "Yes, indeed, he's always taken a bicycle to Downton and back."

Lavinia only nodded, perhaps reading more into this courteous reply because Mary had delivered it.

Rosamund was even more enraptured with the village, having missed her childhood home for decades. "Oh dear, Mrs. Bolton has grown quite old and gaunt. My, how the time flies by. I remember her in her bloom. There now, this is why any young woman ought to get married as soon as possible, for beauty fades faster than daylight at dusk."

It was quite late in the afternoon, when the Ladies returned and Sybil insisted on her plans to have some games that night. She was seconded by Edith and even Mary thought it might be a nice diversion for herself, to give her aching heart some light relief.

Lord Grantham had taken Matthew and Evelyn on a tour of the grounds, until the weather got worse.

With the house empty, Carson had ordered the Christmas tree to be brought in and put up, along with other festive decorations.

"Oh, how charming!" Lavinia praised when they entered the drawing room. Mary smiled again.

Tea was brought as soon as the gentlemen were back.

They warmed up in front of the fireplace, exchanging reports of both village and coutryside affairs.

"We were thinking of playing a game or two before the dinner gong...maybe Charades? Or Blind-man's bluff?" Sybil said, looking eagerly around.

"Nothing too wild, darling." Cora said, with a worried side glance at her mother-in-law.

To her surprise, the Dowager Countess conceded. "As long as I don't have to participate, the young people may have their fun. It's Christmas after all."

Lady Rosamund suggested they play 'You're never fully dressed without a smile', which sounded harmless enough. The goal of the game being to be the last one to remain serious...

Sybil started, pulling such a face that Edith and Lord Grantham had to laugh rightaway.

Cora cracked easily at the odd grimaces her husband gave her, whilst the Dowager Countess tutted, murmuring something about having "...raised a monkey".

That in turn got a chuckle out of Evelyn Napier, consequently infecting Lavinia, who felt giddy and nervous at any rate.

Only Mary and Matthew were left, mostly because they had become fixated on each others faces, staring so intently, as if they could see into the other one's soul.

"Very clever." Robert remarked.

"And not fair..." Edith complained. "...this is not a staring contest. You have to look around too."

Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew did see Napier, trying to distract Mary, whose lips were already twitching dangerously.

And suddenly, he had the strange urge to keep Mary focussed on himself, to keep up whatever connection they just had. To not let Evelyn Napier take her attention away from him...

Mary, for her part did not struggle because of her fiancé's efforts, nor her sisters' creative grimaces. Edith was obviously set to have her sister break before Matthew.

The reason why Mary's lips were fighting a smile was the wonderful feeling of sharing a moment with Matthew, in this room, amidst all their family and their respective fiancés, while they got lost in each others' eyes, brightest blue in deepest chocolate...

She couldn't stop looking, it was as if a spell had been cast over her. And it almost seemed as if Matthew was trying to hold her gaze with all his might.

Downstairs, Carson swung the dressing gong and the spell was broken.

"Well done, Darling. I'd say you've both won." Evelyn said, hastily taking Mary's arm to lead her out of the salon.

She laughed nervously. "I believe so." she said, holding onto his arm, as if to remind herself that there was still a substantial world around her.

The room emptied. Lavinia stood in front of Matthew. She did not look pleased.

"A bit silly, such games, don't you think. I would not have laughed either, if I were you."

Matthew cleared his throat. "But you did, didn't you?" He reminded her and grinned.

Perhaps it was a silly game, but it had provided him with the most wonderful ten minutes of the past three years. Which was a bit sad in itself.

And Mary did not look at him again all through dinner.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter XII.**

The day of the Ball had arrived.

The women of Downton had worked months to plan this event to perfection, with the Dowager Countess as chairwoman. Naturally.

All the first families of the neighbourhood were invited, along with some officers from Evelyn's regiments. It was to be a big affair, and a success for the family's charity efforts.

Downton Abbey itself had been considered as a venue, but when responses to the event had turned out quite well, Lord Grantham feared his private home might not be very suitable to accomodate them all.

Isobel suggested they relocate to Downton's village hall, a handsome building from the late 18th century, which provided a large dark-panelled room with a decent-sized floor for dancing.

The Molesley family had plundered their hothouses to deliver six dozen pots of poinsettia, their red petals glowing beautifully against the dark wood. Cora had insisted on at least as many mistletoes being hung up in random places.

"Oh, nobody will kiss in public, don't worry...it's just a nice touch." she had promised Violet, who feared Sodom and Gomorrah might ensue as a result.

There was also a wonderfully decorated Christmas tree, sporting brand new electrical lights - a first.

This time, the Dowager Countess had refrained from complaining because she had personally witnessed a tree going up in flames at a Christmas party in 1889, the experience of which must have left her traumatised enough to embrace electricity at long last.

All day long, there had been an atmosphere of excitement and nervous anticipation at the Abbey, for the servants had been invited to join. It was an experiment to pair the annual servants ball with this high class event. Since it was all for the war effort, however, no one would complain.

Lord Grantham had given the day off to all the staff members, who planned on walking down to the village later. Even Mr. Carson was curious to have a glimpse at the event of the year.

Bates was invited to ride in front with Taylor.

"A pity you can't dance with him tonight." Mary said, while Anna curled her hair with the new curling iron.

Anna smiled. "I don't mind. It will be lovely either way. We can sit together and talk, without Miss O'Brien perking her ears up."

Mary chuckled, then grew silent, imagining herself and Matthew in a corner together, side by side, talking and laughing. That had been them years ago, at Sybil's ball. He had been mad for her back then, so eager for her hand in marriage. She could still see his glowing face, the way he stared at her as if she were the most precious thing in his world. His eyes, so impossibly blue. His mouth open, always open, whenever he gazed at her. And his hand, trembling when he grasped hers, outside on the balcony, caressing her knuckles, to calm his own nerves.

_Marry me._

It hadn't been a question this time. He had been so sure she would smile and kiss him. Give him the answer he craved so much...

"What is it, Milady?" Anna asked, wondering for a second if she had done her hair wrong, despite copious hours of practice. "The last time I was at a ball, Matthew had asked me again if I'd marry him...I wish to God I had just said yes." She bit her lip and frowned at her own reflection.

Anna put a hand on her mistress' shoulder to calm her down. Mary shook her head slightly.

"Don't worry. I won't ruin your work. I don't plan on looking like a fright with red eyes. It's just galling to think about it."

She had put her invisible shield up again quickly, appraising herself in the mirror with an ever critical eye. "That looks nice, you've really learned how to use this iron."

Anna smiled in response. "Mr. Bates thought so." she mumbled and blushed.

Matthew stood in front of his mirror, sighing. Not being a particularly vain man, he hadn't cared about his looks in God knows how long, but suddenly felt rather self-conscious about it. He knew that the war had taken the bloom of youth out of him, which was not necessarily unattractive in a man.

However, as he studied the slight shadows around his blue eyes and the sharp lines on his face, he was not pleased.

Molesley had put him into his mess kit and he had smoothed his blonde hair back with pomade, making it look neat and shiny. For all the world he looked like a handsome, polished young officer.

To himself, he looked like the shell of the man he used to be. Sometimes he actually thought he was looking at a stranger when he saw himself shave in the morning, and the idea frightened him. The prospect of this evening also frightened him a little. These glamorous event always felt terribly surreal after the reality of the trenches...

And he really wished he could ignore the memory of the last ball he had attended. With Mary. London 1914 had been heaven and hell all in one night.

Mary had not given him her answer yet, but she had never been closer or more open to him, so much so that all the world had assumed she would be his. _He _had deluded himself into thinking she would be his.

Matthew closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No need to dwell on torments from the past.

He had the nasty feeling that there would be plenty of it awaiting him later on.

Torments and delights.

Only for a second Matthew allowed himself to imagine holding Mary in his arms tonight, holding her so very close while they waltzed across the floor, just like in 1914...

No. Not like in 1914. He would not be drawn in, seduced and betrayed by his own heart. It was out of the question to even consider...Lavinia was here. He was _engaged_. Mary was _engaged_ for God's sake! Why was it so hard to let it go all of a sudden? Just from being here again, he had allowed himself to indulge in memories and silly fantasies.

And he trembled to think where these stupid thoughts may lead him yet. Time to put a stop to it.

Once and for all.

Robert had ordered the coach along with the car, so the family could arrive at the ball together. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were to close up the Abbey and walk down last.

Mary volunteered to go in the coach with Evelyn, her parents and Sybil, while the Dowager Countess, Rosamond, Edith and Lavinia took the car, where Matthew was to join them. When he arrived downstairs, the coach had already taken off with the first party.

In the car, Edith noticed Lavinia's perfume. "Is it Vanilla, I smell?" she whispered inquisitively.

Lavinia grinned, "Oh yes, I always wear a vanilla scent, it's Matthew's favourite."

Edith raised an eyebrow. "How lovely. My sister Mary loves it, too. She always uses this vanilla scented lotion from Paris."

Matthew, who had been staring out of the window at the lightly falling snow, not really listening, stiffened all of a sudden.

Lavinia chuckled. "Well, I've told Matthew how much I would love to go to Paris for our honeymoon, but obviously France would be a bad choice at the moment."

Violet snorted. "I can't imagine." she said, sarcasm dripping from her wilted lips.

Lavinia looked on unfazed and Edith was momentarily stunned. Could this girl really be that oblivious?

Matthew was wondering the same thing. Poor sweet Lavinia did not seem to comprehend what Edith had just implied. Guilt washed over him as he briefly glanced at his fiancée.

And Edith was wrong. It wasn't so much the scent of vanilla that he loved, but the scent of vanilla _on_ Mary Crawley's skin. No perfume in the world could recreate that scent. Matthew smiled wryly, thinking idly how the coach in front of them must be filled by now with that wondeful scent, not artificial like perfume, but light, natural and tantalising. Napier would take it in, inhale it, push his shoulder close to hers, then hold her hand in his tenderly...Matthew turned his head back towards the window, his cheeks suddenly burning.

In the coach, Evelyn Napier was indeed rather smitten with his bride next to him, holding her hand as a fact. "You are beautiful." he whispered into her ear, restraining himself from pressing a kiss to her cheek. That wouldn't do, with her parents in front of them.

Lady Grantham smiled. Everything was half as bad as she had expected. Mary did not seem torn up about Matthew and Lavinia at all. Thank heavens for Lord Branksome's son, who was the perfect fiancé. It was foolish to expect Mary to be completely indifferent to Matthew, but she was smart enough to hold onto a good thing like Evelyn.

When she had asked Mary whether she loved him, Mary had declined it, though that was hardly an indicator as to their future. Cora herself and Robert had also fallen in love after the altar, so Mary's chances at happiness were as great as any.

Lord Grantham did not exactly share his wife's view on the matter. Not that he found Napier particularly unsuitable or disagreeable, he was a good boy, sensible and realiable. Still, he simply couldn't shake the feeling that Mary could have done better for herself. He knew it was wrong, but it was difficult not to compare Napier to Matthew.

And he didn't blame Matthew for looking for happiness elsewhere either. Given that he truly found it in Miss Swire, whose character they yet had to explore properly.

Of course it was not his place to question Matthew's choices, he wasn't his father. After their conversation the other morning, however, Robert felt more confident that his heir and his eldest daughter would eventually reconcile and perhaps, after a few years, they might fall back into a solid friendship.

Robert smiled slightly. "What are you thinking, darling?" Cora asked, seeing the smirk on her husband's lips.

"Ah, I have a good feeling about tonight." he said.

Lady Grantham's large blue eyes went even larger. "Oh?" she said, smiling incredulously, "This is a new idea. My dear husband enthusiastic about a ball?" Robert laughed, squeezing Cora's hand. "Come now, I'm not always grumpy about dances. And perhaps I'm just happy to have the whole family together this Christmas.

The coach slowed down on the main street, coming to a halt in front of the illuminated village hall, where already a dozen cars and coaches had parked. People got out, almost mummified against the cold, and hurried into the hall.

Mary was eager to get inside quickly, before the car would arrive behind them.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Apologies to everyone who'd started to follow me and felt let down! I know I promised to publish and publish, but there was so much going on in my life and it's only just calmed down sufficiently so that I got around to write and edit once more. This story has not been abandoned, I promise you that. There will be regular updates from now on! Thank you so much for all the reviews so far, I appreciate each and every one. So here we go again...enjoy...THE BALL... :)

**Chapter XIII.**

Isobel Crawley was glad. She felt that the success of this ball, and it truly looked to be a success, was partly due to her. She had organized the hall, supervised the decorations commitee, ordered the refreshments and hired the band, which was just about to play up. All in all, her restless efforts were rewarded.

Apart from herself, the Grantham Ladies had of course been very helpful. In particular Mary, who had visited every family of their acquaintance in person to issue the invitation and prod whenever there was a refusal on the horizon. Her stubborn nature had paid off well, the hall was full.

Isobel was also happy to see so many servants present. To her great surprise, this had been Violet Crawley's idea, to merge this ball and the annual Servant's ball into one event. Of course, the tables were separated, but food and drink were provided for everyone, and the dance floor was large enough to accomodate both parties.

She sighed with contentment and delight as she saw the Granthams entering.

"Welcome, I'm so glad you made it safe through this weather." she said, shaking the Lord and Lady's hand. „Yes, we only have to wait for the rest to arrive by car. But I suppose we could already greet some of our friends, what do you think?" Cora said, turning from Isobel to her husband.

Robert, who seemed distracted, looked up. „Wh..oh, yes. Why not." He had been looking at his eldest daughter, who had drawn all eyes on her, ever since she had entered the hall and peeled the layers of her heavy coat, shawl and hat off.

Anna had kept her promise. Mary looked like something from another world.

The long green chiffon dress, which Evelyn had brought her from France, set her figure off to perfection. Not too revealing, but so delicate that it clung to her soft curves like a cloud of emerald and gold. She had opted for less accessoires. Her gold and emerald ear-rings and a pair of long black lace gloves completed her outfit. Anna's training with the curling iron had also led to success. She had skillfully curled and twisted Mary's luscious tresses and pinned them up. Even more fashionable, she had created some of those new finger waves to frame Mary's face most fetchingly.

A face that was currently scrutinized by over two hundred people. Mary blushed slightly, aware of the attention she was drawing. Her eyes sought out her fiancés, who looked as if he might blow up with pride.

Being stared at, it usually made her feel like a prize cow on a country fair, albeit the one that got the blue ribbon. Her sudden consternation was halted when she caught sight of something over Evelyn's left shoulder.

Matthew was standing near the entryway, as still as a stone statue. The look on his face was difficult to read from afar, he just stared. At her.

Mary shivered delicately, feeling his icy-blue eyes roam over her whole body. Evelyn noticed the change in her and turned to see what caused it.

"Ah, there they are." Violet and Rosamund strode through the crowd imperiously, nodding and acknowledging old acquaintances.

Molesley was hard put to get Matthew's coat off him, holding up his hands in futile patience, until Lavinia snapped him out of his trance.

"Darling, are you alright? Edith says we will be introduced to the neighbouring families."

Matthew felt like he was being slapped out of a dream. His heart was racing, his palms were sweaty and he even felt some perspiration breaking out on his forehead. What had she done with him?

Such desire as he felt in that moment, it wasn't deniable anymore.

_Mary._

Mary, in a dress of green nothingness draped around her feminine curves. Her pale skin, shimmering like mother-of-pearl, cheeks glowing rosy under her warm chocolate eyes, which were complemented by the shiny dark ebony waves that framed her face.

To Matthew, her beauty felt like a curse upon him, or a taunt that pained him deeply...

Why, oh, why had he come back to this place, back to where she was?

War and distance had effectively turned his burning love for her into a dull ache that he could control. Tonight, he felt all control slip away, like water through a sieve.

The truth was, he'd had it coming for days now, since their arrival. The love he felt for Mary was like a bandaged wound that was ripped open so easily and now it bled more freely than ever before. Matthew cast his eyes away from the sight of her. He had better watch himself tonight, lest he should lose his head and let his emotions get the better of him.

A footman turned up to his left, offering a glass of champagne on a full plate. He took it and finished the drink in one large gulp, easing his dry throat. It was going to be a long evening...


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter XIV.**

The event started as formal as it was custom. After introductions and rounds of greetings, everyone settled into their seats to harken to a boring speech, conducted most likely by the eldest, the Dowager Countess or Lord Grantham himself.

So it came to everyone's surprise when it was Lady Mary Crawley who rose from her seat, nervous but with her head held high.

Violet had insisted she do the honours this year, after she all the initiative she had taken to make this ball happen. Perhaps due to this unusual move, or maybe because this year's speaker was such a sight to behold, the hall went silent immediately and Mary did not even need to call for it.

She looked at her grandmother for a second, who nodded encouragingly, then began to speak.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to thank everyone of you for coming here tonight. Some of you may remember how we issued an invitation to the Ripon Christmas Ball as early as back in August. Back then, we had still held up our hopes that this war might be over by Christmas time, as we had hoped and prayed every year since the start of it."

There was a murmur of assent around the tables.

"We will continue to hope and pray, not only for peace, but for the welfare of everyone who has been affected by this war. The fundings we have raised with your help tonight will be in aid of women and children who can not benefit from our government's welfare schemes, but who are equally in need of our attention. I therefore thank you all for making such an invaluable contribution to their health and happiness."

A thundering round of applause broke out. Mary bowed her head modestly and smiled in acknowledgement.

"Christmas is a time, I believe, when we feel most keenly about everything that we have and everything that we have lost." She looked at Billy's family and at the Wyatts and Palmers, all of whom had lost their sons this year. Stifled sobs became audible from their corners.

"I find myself as distraught by the loss of dear friends in this war, as I am grateful for having my loved ones safe back home."

Matthew held his breath, watching Mary smile at Evelyn, before her dark eyes wandered over to meet his own and he could see the unshed tears in them, full of an untold suffering.

He dared not believe it, couldn't allow himself to hope that Mary cared about his safety as much as about Napier's.

The very idea and the feeling it brought was a bittersweet pain that caused his heart to clench within his chest. Lavinia, who sat to his right took his hand and squeezed it.

Mary recovered quickly, and, smiling again, she held up her glass.

"So I will propose a toast to loved ones, absent and present." To her surprise, everyone got up out of their seats, even Lord Hartford, who was as large as a barrel of beer, and toasted her. "To loved ones."

Mary glowed with relief. It was more than she had expected. Lord Grantham proudly received many compliments on his daughter's oratorical skills.

"Why she's by far a better speaker than a lot of those creatures in parliament at the moment." said Lord Branksome.

Evelyn laughed heartily at his father's joke. "Now, Papa. Don't give Mary any ideas. She may end up leaving me to become the first female Prime Minister."

More boisterous laughter. Sybil frowned.

"Women will be in parliament one day. There may even be a female Primeminister in the future. Notice how this country had always prospered the most whenever there was a woman on the throne?"

The men's laughter quickly died down and Mary shot Sybil a knowing smile. She was perhaps the only one who knew why Sybil was so irritable and resentful of late, or whom she missed at this ball tonight.

It had been almost a year since she and Edith had intercepted the couple on their way to Gretna Green. Branson had tendered his resignation and gone back to Ireland afterwards, while Sybil had not been able to stay at Downton, where everything reminded her of him. Mary had hoped that she would find someone else, if she lived with Aunt Rosamund in London for a while, but she had merely thrown herself into her nursing work.

Sybil was too much like Mary, both women were simply unable to forget their first loves.

It was almost half nine when the first couples gathered on the dance floor. Matthew did not feel much like dancing, but willingly got up when Lavinia asked him to.

In his head, he was reliving the look Mary had given him over and over. Surely, he thought, he was reading too much into it. Of course Mary cared about his safety, he was her cousin and they had been close. There was nothing more to it, he reasoned with himself. He was a fool.

Lavinia was starting to get a bit fed up with his brooding mood. She had never known him to be so quizzical and morose. "I wish you would cheer up a little. You've been like this all evening, Matthew."

He forced a smile for her sake, aplogising, „I know. And I'm sorry."

She eyed him curiously for a moment, then shot a look towards where Evelyn Napier was dancing with Mary Crawley.

"It's just terrible to think of my fellow officers and soldiers out there in the fields...on a night like this. I feel like I ought to be there with them." It was not really a lie. He did feel guilty about this, even though it had not preoccupied him as much as he led on.

Lavinia seemed appeased. "Well, you should try and forget about the front for a few days. Do it for me." she encouraged, smiling at him sweetly.

He nodded, then caught a glimpse of Mary in Napier's arms.

Lavinia saw what he was staring at and her tone changed. "Matthew...I'm..worried. I know you haven't seen your family for a while, but the way you keep...glaring at Mary, I don't know..people will start to notice and...and they might get the wrong impression. Don't you think?"

Matthew looked at her in shock. She was right of course. He had to pull himself together.

"Oh darling, I'm sorry. It's just that..I...I'm not...the truth is...Mary and I...we're like..." He was fumbling for words, and to his horror, he could not think of a single sensible thing to explain to Lavinia why he would be so fixated on Mary, except to tell the truth, which was of course impossible.

Lavinia felt it was time to shut him up before he said something worse.

"...like brother and sister, you mean?" she coaxed, hoping he would catch the hint and stick to her assessement.

Matthew wanted to shake his head, he did not even want to hear this. It's true, he had tried to think of Mary as a sister, but that was before he had even got engaged. And it did not work. There was too much he felt for Mary, too deep a passion, to ever qualify as innocent brotherly affection.

He forced a smile and nodded, guilt washing over him again. Poor Lavinia, if she knew what betrayal he committed in his own mind! How abominable of him! The best thing might be to tell her the truth, to apologize and try to explain that perhaps, they had got engaged too hastily.

Matthew knew it was impossible to end the engagement on his own accord. Unthinkable.

No gentlemen, no man of honour would ever dream of...dumping a girl who was nothing but good to him. It wasn't right. And yet, to marry one woman and pine after another, betraying her in everything but deed...that wouldn't be fair either.

As shameful as it may be, but if he ever got half a chance, if Mary were inclined to have an affair with him, despite their being married to others, he wouldn't be able to resist in the long run...

Matthew flinched, he ought to be thoroughly ashamed of himself to even consider such a thing, and yet, he knew it was nothing but the truth. At this very moment, he would even consider adultery to be with Mary! What had become of him?

So were it not better to avoid all this deceit and pretense and make the right choice before anyone of them got married? He was sweating. Panic started to rise in him with the dawning realization that he was trapped. Matthew needed to shut out these thoughts. He'd done so for such a long time, where was his strength and control now?

Lavinia could catch glimpses of the inner struggle in his head. It was displayed plainly on his pallid face. No, she thought fiercely, she would not back off. Obviously, his cousin still had some hold on him. Who knew what she had promised him to lure him back...

Be that as it may, Lavinia was determined to fight this out with Mary Crawley if she had to.

Mary herself, unaware of these thoughts, tried her best to keep up appearances for the sake of Evelyn who held her as closely as etiquette would allow.

She saw the tenderness in his eyes and fought to mimic the expression as well as possible. But even in this sweet moment, she could not help but compare her betrothed, a handsome charming aristocrat, with the blonde and rather drawn-looking country solicitor dancing to their right.

She knew Matthew was looking at her, gazing even. And it was exactly this gaze which was so very disconcerting to Mary, which caused her to compare the two men in the first place.

Evelyn's eyes were full of sweet adoration, love perhaps, whereas Matthew Crawley stared at her with such desperate longing, such a passion and despair, that Mary's knees wobbled and she trod on poor Evelyn's toes.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, then started to laugh. Mary was mortified.

"I'm so sorry, my darling. I'm so embarrassed." She was laughing despite herself, at her own uncharacteristic clumsiness. It was a nervous reaction, an attempt of her brain to shut out what had caused this momentary lapse and to distract her fiancé who must never know that another man had the power to make her legs give away.

Her worries proved unfounded. Evelyn was far too focussed on his lovely bride and the approving looks she earned by the entire high society of Yorkshire. In short, he was bursting with pride.

Mary was a model of female perfection. And she had chosen _him_ in the end. All those years of keeping up the friendship, of maintaining contact and patiently biding his time had paid off.

A young journalist, who could sing a song on the virtue of patience was slowly edging his way through a throng of onlookers around the dance floor, his eyes skimming the dancers for a certain one.

To his surprise she was not dancing at all, but stood by with a glass of egg nogg, her expression whistful and somewhat lost...


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Thanks so much for the last reviews! Hope you'll enjoy the next chapter as much. We're still at the ball and this is a slightly longer chapter, you'll see why. As the evening draws on and the mulled wine flows, new guests arrive, tongues loosen up and emotions are starting to run high...

* * *

**Chapter XV.**

Sybil Crawley had little patience with big social occasions on a good day, but she downright despised this one.

All those happy couples on the dance floor, excepting the two mismatched ones that included her sister and their cousin, made her feel empty inside.

She had reluctantly lived through a boring waltz with Rupert Collins who had a face as red as a lobster when he danced. After that, she had pretended to have twisted her ankle and chucked her dance card into one of the numerous flower pots.

"I want to go home." she muttered unhappily to no one in particular, Edith having deserted her to dance with Sir Anthony Strallan. She was the only one who had no one, no one who loved her, no one she could love back.

"You know, the car is just parked outside. I'd be happy to drive you home, Milady." A very familiar Irish accent breathed into her neck.

Sybil stiffened, then turned around in shock. "I...you...no..." she whispered feebly, her face nearly crumbling with pure joy. "Yes." Branson grinned.

No words were really needed to convey what they both felt. He was wearing a black suit and tie. It was not difficult to take him for an upper middle class gentleman.

She pulled him backwards behind one of the dark wooden columns. They kissed passionately and Branson wasted no time to secure what he had come for tonight. "Lady Sybil.." She frowned.

"Sybil!" she clarified sternly. He laughed. "Sybil, you know what I will ask. I have spend the past two years building up a career in journalism, I saved money so that I can now offer you at least a reasonable living. It won't be the same as you are used to, I know that, but I will work hard to make you happy..."

Her hand on his mouth shushed him. Sybil's eyes were glittering with tears.

"Just offer me yourself. If I can have you, I shall be the happiest woman in the world." He stared at her dumbly.

"This means yes, Branson..."

Now he laughed. "It's Tom!"

Sybil, grinned and shook her head. "That will take some time getting used to. Tom and Sybil Branson."

They were disturbed by Violet who called for Sybil.

"That's Granny. Please, wait for me outside in about an hour. Do mingle, I'll have to." She paused, then looked quite stern, "But remember I will be your wife, so don't _flirt_ with any of those housemaids."

He laughed and shook his head, aiming to press another kiss on her lips, but that would have to wait until they were alone. No use to risk being caught by the old Lady and then thrown unceremoniously out by Lord Grantham, who would probably set the dogs on him if he knew the truth. He was in for a shock this Christmas to be sure.

And Lord Grantham was never fond of shocking news. There had been too many in his family of late. Dancing with Cora, he had to think back to the way things were before this wretched war had thrown the world into madness. He'd seen what it had done to the young men of the country.

Matthew was the best example. Rarely had he seen a person so altered, in appearance, demeanour and attitude. And not for the better.

Not that Matthew was acting offensive, but there was definitely something wrong with him. To be sure Robert had a good idea what or rather who that something was.

"You're so serious, what's worrying you?" Cora asked, bringing him back to the present. "Oh, I was just in memory land. Remember all the trifling things we used to be concerned about before the war? It seems so silly now."

Cora could not agree. "Well, the loss of James and Patrick and the entail business were not much fun either."

Robert eyed her curiously. "But of course, not comparable to the loss of so many lives..." she conceded quickly. He smiled at her tenderly. „No, you _are_ right...things were hardly perfect for us three years ago. And they had been awful for Mary."

Cora was glad to hear that he cared. She smiled. "Rather awful. Dear Mary..."

Robert got bolder, "_And_ Matthew. I know that he'd been crushed by Mary's refusal. To go to war with a broken heart...I don't envy him."

Cora was silent for a moment, then said rather snidely, "He's certainly not broken-hearted anymore. Parading Miss Swire around under Mary's nose..."

Robert shook his head vehemently. "I don't know about that. I've been watching him since they arrived, and I am more convinced than ever that Matthew will never quite recover from Mary."

Cora scoffed, but her doubt only added to Robert's conviction. "You make her sound like an illness." she huffed disapprovingly.

"You know what I mean. I know what true love looks like." He smiled tenderly at his wife of nearly thirty years.

"They were made for each other and Mary still loves him as much as he loves her, you can't deny that." he whispered as he spun her around.

This matter-of-fact statement made Cora rather anxious. Mary was so happy with Evelyn, but if Robert was right, Matthew's presence could easily destroy their blissful future.

"You're wrong, darling. Mary loves Evelyn. He's perfect for her and they will be very happy. We all know you favour Matthew, and I don't blame you, but you must stop to think him faultless. He's broken Mary's heart and then deserted her..."

Robert could see that Cora's fierce whispers were slowly building into a heated discussion. It may be prudent to leave it at that.

"We must agree to disagree, I'm afraid. I don't want to quarrel. Matthew had to leave, he had a right to protect himself. And he didn't know...actually, he still doesn't know that Mary loves him." Robert sighed regrettably. Cora raised an eyebrow in silent warning.

"But don't worry, my dearest, it does not look as if true love will conquer all. Mary and Matthew will both be trapped in unhappy marriages, pining after each other for the rest of their lives...don't look at me like this, you know deep down that I am right." Robert finished, glad to have it off his chest.

Cora was hardly convinced. Matthew would have to drop this mask of cold, mournful diffidence first. If Robert was right, however, she would find out tonight. These thoughts appeased her slightly and Robert was relieved to see her smile again.

"Did you see Sir Anthony with Edith?" he ventured, in a blatant bid to divert his wife's thoughts from Mary.

"Again, I am not sure I want him to sneak up on her again. Sir Anthony had his chance back before the war. Edith was distraught and I don't want her to get hurt again." Cora said, her eyes skimming the crowd for her middle daughter's red head and found her on the arm of Evelyn Napier.

Edith had been surprised when Mary's fiancé had asked her for a dance, but gladly accepted.

"Mary is a lucky bride, to have a husband who can dance so well." she said, smiling up at the handsome dark-haired Branksome heir.

"Likewise, Lady Edith. Mary's also lucky to have a sister who..." he hesitated. It was very tempting to make a snide remark about a certain letter. His soon-to-be-sister-in-law would deserve no better, but it was advisable to let bygones be bygones.

Edith stared at him expectantly, waiting for the rest of his comment. "Who what?" her petulant tone and piercing look annoyed him.

"Let's just say, you've certainly shown a great interest in your sister's affairs. Enough to share them with others."

Edith was taken aback. Mary had never told her who had given her away all these years ago. Now she knew and had the good grace to look ashamed.

"I know it was wrong, but should you not be more grateful? I mean, you are the person who profited from it all." she replied archly.

Evelyn frowned and stared at her in confusion. "Come again?" he hissed.

Edith smiled wryly. "If it had not been for that letter, Mary would not have worried so much about..well, you know...and she would surely have accepted cousin Matthew's proposal."

If Edith had looked taken aback at his revelation, Evelyn looked positively aghast at hers.

"What?" he spluttered. Edith almost regretted her words, but he had not spared her either, so she elaborated. "Didn't you know? Mary had left Matthew dangling because she could not tell him about ...well, you know."

Evelyn looked over to where Mary was dancing with her father. He had not known.

"I thought it was about the inheritence, because Lady Grantham was..." Edith shook her head.

"That was only part of it, but Mary was quite broken up when Matthew left. Sometimes I think she will never recover."

He turned to look at her again, shock in his eyes. "It may have been so...once..but there is nothing between them now. And Lady Edith..."

His own words had calmed him down again and he gave her a stern look. "I would appreciate it if you would cease to go public with your sister's private business. It's very unbecoming for a young Lady to tattle and prattle."

Edith answered with a sour smile. "Not to worry, Mr. Napier, I have my own business to mind. However, the facts I have just shared with you may be taken as a well-meaning _hint._ Just something to consider. I would like to sit down now, please escort me back to my seat."

He was so stunned that no ready reply came to his mind. Not a civil one at any rate. Evelyn dutifully brought her back to where Sybil and Lady Rosamund were sitting over a glass of mulled wine.

Over his shoulder he saw Mary was still with her father, laughing gaily. What nonsense her spiteful sister was up to he didn't know. Mary was perfectly happy with him and never even _talked_ of Matthew Crawley anymore.

Apart from Edith, nobody would even suspect such a ridiculous thing, of that he was absolutely certain.

He watched her laughing and calmed down. Mary was happy, anyone who looked at her would agree, wouldn't they?

Robert frowned. "Mary, darling..don't laugh. This is serious. To Matthew it is, at least."

Mary fell silent. When her father had asked her straightout if she had not perceived Matthew was still in love with her, she had finally had to give way to her nerves cracking a little. Only, that instead of tears, nervous manical laughter wrecked her again.

Oh, how wrong Papa was, how terribly and unforgivably wrong. Not only with his theory, but for bringing it up with her.

"Papa, I promise you, there is nothing left between me and Matthew. And I wish people would stop saying so." Mary whispered fiercely, then cast down her eyes and said more subdued, "He does not love me, he may never have loved me in the first place. He loves Lavinia, so please, just let it be."

Robert sighed. He knew it wasn't his place, but Mary ought to see what was really going on. "I'm sorry to upset you so. Truly I am. But, my darling, I have to tell you what I think. It is _your_ life, your choice. I do like Evelyn, and I am sure he loves you as much as any other man. But..forgive me, but I need to say it this once.."

He hesitated, giving her the chance to intervene, as he could see traces of panic in her eyes.

"Say it." Mary urged him at last.

Robert held her gaze as he spoke. "Matthew loves you like no other man in this world will ever love you. This kind of love is so rare, Mary. What you two have...could have together...it's beyond anything I've ever seen. It may even surpass what your mother and I have."

This last statement shook Mary to the core. She knew how much her father loved her mother, how happy they were. It was a big comparison to make.

"I'm sorry, darling. I don't mean to throw your life into turmoil, but I needed to let you know what I know." Mary shook her head and smiled at her father, putting one hand on his chest soothingly.

"Not at all, Papa. I'm glad to know your mind. But I'm afraid it doesn't matter much anymore, the way things are. I can't marry Matthew, it's simply not an option anymore. But don't worry too much, I'm happy with my life. And Lavinia will be...an adequate mistress for Downton."

Both grimaced slightly, then looked over to where Lavinia was dancing with Lord Hepworth.

"Not as good as you'd have been." Robert said finally and they chuckled, Mary in bitter resignation.

He still wasn't entirely convinced of her indifference. Quite on the contrary, but it would not do to push the issue too much.

Matthew was a sensible man, he wouldn't do anything stupid. If he and Mary thought so little of their love that they would not fight for it, he and Cora had no right to meddle.

Cora for her part had only just been convinced that perhaps the whole affair was worth meddling with after all.

Though she had planned to sit the rest of the dances out, pleading her age, she did not refuse Matthew when he asked her. There may not be another opportunity like this to test him on Robert's allegations.

"I never got around to congratulating you, Matthew." said she, smiling up at him.

"Whatever for?" he asked, slightly confused.

"Your bride. Lavinia is a charming person. I'm sure she will make an excellent wife." Cora explained matter-of-factly.

"Oh..thank you. Yes, I believe so." he replied, then fell silent.

"Of course Robert and I are more than relieved to see both you and Mary so happily set up."

Matthew turned his head to the side, avoiding Cora's searching eyes. „Happily...indeed." he muttered, in a tone that was hard to read.

"Mr. Napier is also...very charming. He must be all Lady Mary had ever wished for in a husband." Matthew went on, a note of bitterness to his voice.

Cora suppressed a grin. "Like what?" she teased lightly, and finally saw what Matthew's steel blue eyes had fixed on.

Mary sat at a table with Evelyn close to her, holding her hand, her head almost touching his shoulder. Cora observed Matthew curiously. His face was stony and becoming gradually more so.

"I agree. From a _practical_ point of view, Evelyn is certainly perfect for Mary. They have grown up in the same world and he will be able to give her everything she wants in life." She was more or less reciting the arguments she had made to Robert when Evelyn had first proposed to Mary.

Matthew wished she would be quiet and berated himself for having asked for this dance.

"Sounds quite perfect." he quoted drily, finally dragging his eyes off of the happy couple.

"Yes. Mary's changed so much since the war had started. I was quite worried for a while, but Evelyn seems to have made all the difference. Despite what we had all expected, she has made a love match after all." Cora said, laughing quietly.

Matthew stopped them in the midst of their waltz. She knew she had hit home and almost regretted it, for his face had become contorted with emotion. Matthew licked his lips and blinked furiously.

"Matthew?" Cora asked, worried now.

"Please, don't say such a thing..." he said almost inaudible through his teeth. She heard him.

"I...I'm sorry." Matthew shook his head bitterly and mumbled almost too himself, "Love..he could never love her like..."

Lord Branksome and his wife bumped into Matthew from behind, checking his next words. People were staring at them disapprovingly as if they were roadkill on a dancefloor. He quickly pulled himself together and slowly began to lead their dance again.

"Don't be sorry. I'm a fool, that's all." He spoke firmly, but the look that accompanied his words was heartbreaking.

Cora felt a sudden surge of pity and regret. It had never occured to her how affected Matthew must have been by the loss of Mary. She had never considered it, since naturally, Mary's feelings were her priority. Still, it was cruel to provoke him so, when he was clearly suffering more than she had thought possible.

"I'm the one who is sorry, Cousin Cora. Do apologise. I don't know what has come over me."

The cold mask was back in place and now she was glad for it. His display had shaken her and Cora couldn't wait to talk to Robert about it. Her eyes scanned the crowd for his wavy hairstyle and found him with Edith at the table of refreshments.

Edith did not look too happy either.

"Darling, you do not need to bother with him, if it makes you sad. I could even go and and tell him to leave you alone." Robert offered.

"Papa! You mustn't do that!" she exclaimed in shock. „I mean, I really don't need help. Sir Anthony has been nothing but polite and affable. I'm not at all upset about him."

When her father raised an eyebrow, Edith thought it prudent to change the subject. "If I were you, I'd worry about Mary."

This suprising suggestion made him choke on his wine. Quite out of character for Edith to purposefully draw attention to her elder sister.

They saw her a few feet away, twirled around by old Carson at a leisurely pace. For the first time all evening, she looked pleasantly relaxed.

"I shall miss you, Carson, when I'm to leave Downton. Truly I will, there is no denying it." Mary confessed, smiling at her old friend.

He smiled back, glad and proud in his old heart to be of consequence to his favourite girl.

"I'm glad to hear it, Milady. There is no denying _that _either. And I do hope..if it is not too bold to ask, to perhaps receive notice when you have settled, that all is well...and happy." For the third time this night, Mary was feeling more emotional than was her custom.

"I promise. But, Carson...I'm not sure I'm going to leave very soon. The war seems to go on endlessly." He could not console her on this point.

"Indeed, Milady. I'm afraid we will have to deal with this war for much longer than we all expected. And...it must be hard for you to see Captain Napier off again after Christmas...and Captain Crawley."

Mary looked up at Carson with baleful eyes. He knew her so well.

"It is. I fear..for both." Carson didn't know how far he could go with this, but he wanted to try.

"Perhaps one more than the other?"

To his suprise, Mary gave a bitter chuckle. "Yes. One more than the other. Unfortunately, it's not the one I_ ought_ to fear for the most. I'm not ashamed to admit that I can't bear the thought of losing Captain Crawley. Only you know how much." She almost shocked herself with her honesty.

"I'm sure he will be alright. And...I know it's hardly my place to say so, but would you ever consider telling him so?" Carson ventured, his voice gentle.

Mary didn't laugh, she wasn't offended either. "Oh Carson, if only things were so simple. I can hardly throw my fiancé over, not when he's been so good to me. And Matthew loves Miss Swire. I know it. He would only feel bad if I told him, and that would make matters so much worse." she whispered despondently.

Carson snorted. "Miss Swire! If he prefers a woman like Miss Swire to you, Milady, then he doesn't deserve you." The butler looked scandalised at the very idea.

Mary patted his arm to calm him down, chuckling softly. "You're rather biased, Carson. And as always, worrying too much. I'm happy, truly. I have the best fiancé in the room, what else could I ask for? He's a very good man and I want to show myself worthy of that."

She smiled brightly at him, putting on her bravest face. The kind he had seen her pull when she would have taken a tumble as a little girl, trying not to cry. It was heartbreaking.

"What none-sense. Milady is worthy of a_ King_ and I do hope Captain Napier appreciates his luck."

Mary laughed out loud. "Oh, Carson...just imagine...I'd be a fine Marie Antoinette."

Then she turned serious. "I'd hate to have you worried about me... so please know that I will be very very happy with Captain Napier. Perhaps more happy than I deserve..."

He opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. All he could do was hope that she may be right. If not, there was not much he could do to protect her.

"Good heavens, is that Branson?" Mary exclaimed all of a sudden, having spotted their former chauffeur lurking behind one of the columns.

"It is, Milady. I'm astonished. He was in Dublin, last we heard."

Mary only nodded, her eyes searching for Sybil already. When she found her, however, she wished that she had not...

Sybil was dancing with Matthew. And Mary wasn't the only one who had spotted Branson either.

"You know, Tom Branson had approached me about you." Matthew said bluntly, watching Sybil's face take on the colour of beet root.

"Before the war." he clarified. "Now, I don't want to interfere or upset you..."

Sybil found her voice again and an onslaught of panic made it hoarse.

"Then leave it! Please, cousin Matthew. Don't say anything. And please keep it to yourself! It's none of your or anyone's business! Has Mary told you?" she hissed, casting furtive glances around.

Matthew looked taken aback. "No, I...I just said, he came to me himself. How does Mary know?"

Sybil calmed down slightly. Matthew was so easily distracted, it was ridiculous.

"I told her. But really, nothing has happened and it was all harmless. Mary said she would not say anything to Papa if I promised not to do anything stupid."

Matthew looked sceptical. "Are you saying Mary knew and she didn't give you away?" He looked to where she was dancing with Carson, the butler.

"Yes. She said we should wait and try to break it to Papa gently...but Branson...Tom, he had already left for Dublin to make a living for us..." said Sybil, watching her cousin's growing confusion.

"I cannot believe it. Mary gave you her blessing to marry_ the chauffeur?_" he concluded almost angrily.

This annoyed Sybil. „Really Matthew, who are you to be such a snob? You were a lawyer once and Tom isn't a chauffeur anymore! He's a journalist now, and very successful I might add. Not that I care, but there you have it!"

Matthew stared back at her, realising that he had been misunderstood.

"I'm sorry. That's not what I meant to imply. Rather the the contrary. See, I was the one who got Branson the job in Dublin over a colleague, so he could come back and make a...slightly more realistic proposal to your father."

In the matter of a second, Sybil went from furious to over-joyed. She had never imagined to have half as much support from her family. At least from the younger members.

"Oh, Matthew. I never knew. You...how can I ever thank you enough?" She squeezed his hand affectionately.

Matthew smiled, but something still bothered him. "You're welcome. Only..." he hesitated.

"What?" He glanced back at Mary furtively, who had sat down again, next to Granny and looked over at him. Their eyes met and she quickly looked away again.

"Mary..." he mumbled. Sybil followed his eyes.

"She's not like that anymore, you know. Actually...she said after all is said and done, love matters more than status and all that..." Sybil whispered, not sure whether Mary would appreciate her passing on this information.

To her surprise Matthew rolled his eyes and snorted. "Oh really? All of a sudden love is more important? Well, maybe when it doesn't concern herself..." he scoffed and for an instant he was tempted to leave Sybil on the dance floor and confront Mary, who sat there idly in what he took to be a state of happy complacency.

Sybil felt that he ought to give Mary some credit. "Is it so hard to believe that her attitudes have altered within those three years? You have changed too, you know...and you don't even know her anymore!"

This seemed to agitate him further. "I know her better than anyone else, believe me!" he barked, then retracted. What was wrong with him tonight? „Forgive me, Sybil, this is not your concern."

She shook her head. "Mary is very much my concern. I love her and I know she is a much better person than all of you want to see. I never thought I'd have to protect her...not from you anyways!"

Her speech cut him deeply. "You're wrong." he said, quietly now. "Completely wrong. I love her too...so much in fact that I tend to overlook all her flaws, until they come to hit me square in the face." Matthew bit his lip. He couldn't believe he's said it so openly again.

Sybil, however, looked neither shocked, nor scandalised. She smiled. Somehow, this emboldened Matthew. He might as well go on now.

"You have no idea, Sybil, no idea how much I... when I quarrel with her, it's out of love, never out of hatred." he finished, laughing hollowly. He made a mental note to steer clear of the wine for the remainder of the night, he was losing his head, clearly.

Sybil did not know what to reply, unable find the words that may be appropriate to such a revelation. Of course, she had known, but to hear him own up to it only made her wish she could do something to help. What in heaven's name were those two doing, marrying other people? She had to find a way to let Mary know.

"Don't worry. It's no big deal." Matthew tried to ease her mind. "You must be happy tonight to have Branson back. And you may count on me to put a good word in with your Papa when the time comes."

Sybil glanced up at him sceptically. It obviously was a very big deal.

"Remember, I have Lavinia...and Mary has Mr. Napier." Matthew concluded and his expression grew dark at these prospects.

At last, Sybil took a heart and asked him straightout, "Do you love Lavinia? Truly?"

She looked him square in the eyes, he'd have to tell the truth.

But Matthew had no intention of lying, not at this point in time. He couldn't lie to himself anymore, nor to others.

"No." he answered flatly. Sybil nodded, feeling confirmed in what they had always suspected.

"Matthew, darling. You never told me your family was so entertaining. Lord Grantham is so charming and funny." A voice called from behind them.

Both Matthew and Sybil jumped in fright when Robert danced alongside them with Lavinia. Had they been overheard, either about Mary or Branson, they would be in equally big trouble.

However, Lavinia was miraculously unaware of her fiancé's feelings. That was Robert's assessment after the past few minutes of waltzing with her. She must be in denial and he did feel sorry for the poor girl. Underneath her mildly pretentious naivity, she appeared harmless and good-natured. But nevertheless, quite ignorant in everything that was going on in the world and in her immediate surroundings.

Or so Robert assumed, until she complained: "You know, it may seem impertinent, but I have this odd feeling that Mary is not very happy to see Matthew again..."

Robert stared at her, hardly knowing what to say to that. "Why...what makes you say that?" he said, simultaneously annoyed and relieved that she would breach the subject.

"Oh, it's just a feeling. They were very close, I understand. And Matthew refused her."

Robert wondered whether she knew the exact circumstances of said 'refusal'.

"Because Mary wouldn't take him without the entail." she stated, a slight sneer marring her pretty face.

"I don't think it was that simple, but that's all in the past, so I shouldn't worry about it now." Robert said, secretly hoping that he was wrong.

"I'm sure." Lavinia said cheerfully, then frowned. "I know that people think our engagement came too quickly, that we barely knew each other, but surely he would not have proposed and I would not have accepted if it was not meant to be. That must mean something." Lavinia said, sounding as if she was trying to justify it to herself.

"Yes. Quite different from the way Matthew and Mary met. You know, she didn't like him at all in the beginning." Robert laughed a little, remembering how Mary had compared him to a mythological seamonster.

"Matthew did not have an easy time trying to woo her..." he said, then realized how Lavinia's eyes got narrow. She was clearly annoyed and he could hardly blame her.

"How odd. No wonder it ended so badly." she said, having about enough of discussing this old romance.

Yet, something in her tone was rousing Robert to defend it. He could not help himself "I would not quite say that. They are still friends and cousins. There mustn't be bad blood within the family."

Lavinia only nodded. "Of course, Lady Mary has Mr. Napier. And Matthew has me. I'm sure we'll grow together into a happy family."

This time, Robert was silent. And it spoke volumes. Lavinia was on the alert. What if they were all in on it, whatever Lady Mary was planning? Some scheme to lure Matthew away from her, to draw him in, so that she would have the inheritence after all. Lavinia grew more and more confused. She calmed herself with the knowledge that she knew Matthew to be incapable of ever dropping her.

His sense of honour would ensure that he'd stay with her, no matter how much Mary might try to ensnare him. And of course there was her own fiancé, Captain Napier. Lavinia decided to try and find out what he knew at the next opportunity that presented itself.

She glanced around and saw Napier dancing with Lady Grantham, who was still slightly shaken by her recent talk with Matthew.

"Indeed, my mother has suggested we just set the date for April. She doesn't believe in waiting for the end of the war." Cora stared at him in confusion.

"For the wedding." he clarified. "And I admit that I've been starting to give into her. I've put it to Mary but she seemed...reluctant."

Cora gathered her wits quickly. "Oh. Well, it does seem a bit inconvenient. You and Mary would hardly see each other after your leave was over."

Napier nodded and smiled. "I know. It just feels like the longest engagement in history."

Cora laughed at this exaggeration. "Your impatience does you credit. I'm sure Mary feels the same."

His mirth was suddenly gone and a note of worry was creasing his brow. "Does she?" he wondered. "Sometimes I..." he shook his head as if to clear it of bad thoughts.

"What? Please, do tell." Cora said, half afraid of what would follow.

"Alright. You are probably the best person to judge this and as my future mother-in-law, I trust you will not tell Mary about my misgivings..."

He looked aside to where Mary was resting, talking to Lady Louisa and Lady Sylvia Carton.

"I feel bad..for being so suspicious, but...has it ever occured to you that there may still be. something left unresolved...between Mary and her cousin Matthew?"

Fortunately, Cora had been prepared for his words, so she was able to react with composure.

"Dear me, Evelyn. This is rather queer. What would give you such an impression?" She felt foolish herself, asking this and denying the obvious.

"Nothing in particular, of course. Merely something that had passed my mind. It's silly." he laughed, dismissing the blatant truth so quickly, it almost pained Cora, who knew that he was more than right.

"I will have a word with Mary about this. I'd hate for you to have doubts, and so would she." Cora said decidedly.

"I'd rather you wouldn't. Really, I don't want Mary to think I'm complaining." said he with full conviction. If there was a grain of truth in his allegations, it would not do to play the jealous lover, which would only serve to annoy Mary, of that he was certain.

Cora nodded slowly, smiling at his wisdom. "If you wish. But I will ask Mary to consider the idea of an April wedding. Only because I like to think of her as a spring bride." she joked, hoping to dissolve the last of his gloom.

He was not paying attention to her though, having caught sight of a couple dancing close by.

"To be honest, it's not even Mary who worries me. But Captain Crawley appears to suffer quite keenly in her presence." And Evelyn would not be talked out of this.

Cora would not have dreamt of doing so, in particular when she saw the expression on Matthew's face who was dancing a few feet away with Edith.

Though wasn't exactly aiming to cause trouble, Edith simply couldn't pass on the chance to tease their cousin a little. After only a few minutes, Matthew was sorely tempted to drop his arms and turn around to leave.

And he was even more tempted to vent all this pent up frustration and fury that had built up throughout this dismal evening.

He wondered vaguely whether Edith could be cruel on purpose, or if she was actually unaware of the pain which her words inflicted.

Edith for her part was almost shocked at how easy it was to put Matthew on edge with the topic of Mary.

Her simple assertion that "Mary surprised me of late when she talked about children. You must admit, Mary was never the motherly kind, but she actually said that she's looking forward to it. Just imagine!" Edith laughed hysterically.

Regardless of whether Edith was telling the truth or not, Matthew's mind immediately conjured up the image of Mary caressing the soft curve of her pregnant belly. He inhaled sharply, frowning away from his cunning dance partner.

The very idea of Mary's bearing another man's child, of laying in his arms and conceiving it, then carrying it inside her beautiful round body for nine months, loving it as if it were the greatest gift imaginable to her...

What had once been one of his most treasured fantasies about Mary, back when he was still hopeful of her love, had just warped into a nightmare.

"Hard to imagine." he pressed out, looking anywhere but at Edith.

He had had an inkling that she may be onto him, that she would tease him, but etiquette required him to dance with all the Ladies of his family.

The alternative would have been to seek out Mary. And he was positive that he would not be able to endure that, not in the state he was in tonight. Edith's mind games weren't helping matters either.

"Well, as you know Mary is getting on in years, so she had better hurry up with all that..." she went on snidely.

Matthew bit his tongue, thinking that Edith herself was hardly in the position to sneer at Mary's age, being only two years younger and without any marriage prospects at all, though he thought it wiser not to voice his opinion.

"Yes, it's quite remarkable how Evelyn has changed her." Edith continued cheerfully, ignoring Matthew's sour expression. „Don't laugh now, but Mary has actually started to write poetry."

Another hit square in the face. He couldn't even force a smile, let alone laugh. "Is that so?" he said, in a strangled voice, looking down at a piece of mistle-toe that had fallen to the ground and been trampled on repeatedly.

So Mary was writing poems for Napier, while he, pathetic fool that he was, had been writing poems to her all through the war. His notebooks were full of them...

"Are they any good?" he managed to enquire, not sure if he really wanted to know.

"I've only read one, secretly, so don't give me away...it was fairly good. A bit over the top, but that's allowed when one is in love, I suppose." Edith whispered with a grin.

Matthew grit his teeth, so much that he thought his jaw might break.

"You know what else she does now?"

Edith didn't know what in heaven's name drove her on to do this. She knew it was risky and maybe a bit cruel, but somehow Edith felt that she ought to push this, whatever it was that just happened inside their cousin's head.

The fact that he had not ended their conversation or tried to strike up a new topic spoke for itself, she decided.

Matthew himself felt utterly helpless to stop this. On the one side, he wanted Edith to shut up, but at the same time he lapped up every datail about Mary like a starving dog.

"...I've seen her pray before she goes to sleep and she never used to do that, not since she we were little girl. She kneels by the bed and folds her hands primly over some photography...I suspect it's Evelyn's." Edith recalled the night that she had actually caught Mary in that position.

So much for his idiotic hopes that Mary would give a toss about _his _safety. Matthew decided that nothing that Napier could do or say would ever make him deserve a woman like Mary.

Oh God, how sweet to imagine to be the man for whom Mary got on her knees for every night, gazing lovingly at his picture, to ask God to guide him back safe into her arms...

"Matthew, are you alright?" She knew that she had gone too far when she saw the haunted look in his eyes. That's what a broken heart looked like. If her sister couldn't perceive how much this man loved her then she was the greatest fool that ever breathed air.

"You mustn't take it too much to heart, Matthew." Edith said very quielty, guilt colouring her voice.

Matthew realised that he had to get a grip on himself. And perhaps find a way to leave this wretched ball. "Never mind me, I'm feeling...out of sorts tonight. And I fear I've already made half your family anxious." He glanced around, rather guilty for making them all uneasy.

"Better make sure, I don't dance with Mary. Who knows what might happen." he joked, though his smile did not reach his eyes. Edith shook her head and sighed.

"Lavinia is a very charming person." she tried in a desperate attempt to distract him.

"Thank you. I hear that a lot tonight." His smile was more genuine as he calmed down.

They both looked over to where Lavinia was dancing with Evelyn Napier.

"She'll be a wonderful wife." Edith ventured, trying in vain to make up for the damage she had caused.

"I'm not going to marry her." Matthew informed her quietly, in the tone of absolute conviction.

"But..." Edith was so stunned that she forgot to move to the music and stepped sharply on his foot.

"Don't worry, Cousin Edith." Matthew said and winced. „It's not a sudden whim because of what you said about Mary." He looked down, relieved when this horrid dance came to a close. "I made a mistake...and now I must talk to Mary!" He nodded at his own words, conviction adding spring to his step as he led her back to her seat.

Edith did not know what to say and stared up at him aghast. Sitting down, she watched Lavinia being led by her sister's fiancé in a slow waltz. Little did the red-headed woman suspect that her entire future had changed in the course of a dance.

"Would you prefer a London Christmas?" Evelyn Napier asked Lavinia when she complained about the rural atmosphere.

"Infinitely." replied she. "I did try to convince Matthew to stay with Daddy and me, but he wouldn't be talked out of coming here." Evelyn rather wished that she had been more successful. Why had he invited them in the first place?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthew Crawley, leading his cousin Edith back to the benches.

"Ah, there he is, poor chap must have danced with half the guests by now." he obvserved.

Lavinia laughed. "Indeed. Lord Grantham had advised him to make the rounds with all the neighbouring families tonight. It is a good opportunity to establish him better as the future Earl."

Evelyn pulled a face. "Robert doesn't look as if he was knocking on death's door quite yet. Surely, we all hope that your fiancé will remain in the law business for the next twenty years at least"

This got Lavinia's back up a little. "Well, you can never tell. Of course, we hope that cousin Robert will live a long life, but if it is not to be, Matthew ought to be ready." she finished decisively.

"And you? Would you be ready to wear the Countess' coronet right away?" It was a legitimate question, and not entirely intended as a snobbish sneer.

However, Lavinia wasn't fooled and took offence. "I don't pretend to be as grand and high-born as all of you. And no, I am not ready." she said decidedly. "Sometimes, I wish that Matthew was just a wealthy solicitor, like Daddy."

"How ironic." he chuckled.

"Pardon me?" said she, still offended.

"It really is. When you think that Mary had once refused your fiancé because she wasn't ready to become a solicitor's wife, and now the case is reversed. Poor Captain Crawley, seems like he can never do right by women."

His last statement was meant to be humorous, but Lavinia considered it to be the last straw.

"Well,_ I _would never refuse him, whatever may come. That was Lady Mary." Lavinia hissed, full-fledged anger flashing in her green eyes. „Lucky for you though...that Matthew had not been good enough for _her_ taste."

Evelyn nearly backed away at her biting tone. He took a moment to control his anger, then spoke through gritted teeth. "I think, it's safe to say that you and I have both been lucky on that score."

Lavinia blinked, then smiled up at him sourly. They continued the rest of this dance in a miffed silence.

* * *

**A/N**: Still with me? Rather long chapter, I know. Now we know what's on everyone's mind and after all the talking, the action can finally start! Next chapter, our favourite non-couple will get their dance. I smell romance...and trouble ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N. **Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews :) I appreciate each and every one and it's wonderful to see that people can still get into this story despite the long hiatus! I promised some action in thie chpt. so the is tension is about break some...yay! Enjoy reading :)

* * *

**Chapter XVI.**

A few feet away, and completely unbeknownst to them, Matthew had finally mustered the nerve to ask the one person that he truly wanted to dance with all night.

Mary had once again sought refuge and solace by her grandmother's side, feeling low and tense, and horribly false whenever she put on a happy face.

"You know, Mary dear." Violet mused. "You remind me a lot of your grandfather tonight. He was also excellent at bottling up his feelings. Only I could read him like a book, and in the end he would always cave in and admit to what was ailing him. Even if it was merely an upset stomach..." she recounted whistfully, meaning to impart the great respect she had for her grand-daughter at pulling off such a good show.

Violet was convinced that by now Mary's heart must have been trampled on about as much as the feet of old Lord Starke's dancing partners.

Mary pulled a face. "Everyone seems to think I function like an automaton. Perhaps I ought forget about matrimony and go into politics after all. Imagine how proud Sybil would be." she joked, a wry smile on her lips.

When she saw the horror-struck expression on Granny's face, however, she was quick to assure that she had been in jest. It had not been Mary's quip however, that had the Dowager Countess frozen in place. Rather the dashing blonde figure in a mess kit, that stood right behind Mary, looking down at her with an odd combination of longing and determination.

"A dance?" he rasped, his voice low and tense.

Mary jumped half a foot out of her seat, the red wine from her glass making its way onto Violet's dark lilac dress.

"Oh my God! Granny, I'm so sorry." she muttered, flustered and desperate to say anything, so she would not have to react to Matthew's request.

"No, it's my fault! I do apologise, cousin Violet, I should not have crept up on you like this...I'm so sorry!" he hurried to Mary's side, not sure what to do really. He could hardly help Mary dabbing away on Granny's soiled frock with a napkin.

Quite unexpectedly, Violet was chuckling. "Oh dear...well, I suppose you should apologize to my maid, Burns, who will have to get another wine stain out of yet another dress. This being the second one in two days. Never mind that...I believe you two wanted to dance?" The way she emphasised the question made it clear that she very much hoped they would.

Mary stared at her for a second in silent accusation. _Et tu, Brute?_ Oh what a traitor Granny could be!

Violet's smile was angelic and Matthew had the nerve to hold out his hand to Mary. What else could she possibly do? She could not run from him.

"Well, would you?" he asked again, an earnest plea in his light eyes.

"Why not." she muttered, trying to sound non-chalant, though her voice trembled and spoiled the effect.

As if on cue, the orchestra started to play a slow waltz, so they had to move at a pace which only served to enhance the tension and awkwardness between them.

The sensation of holding Mary so close to him, his hand trembling on her back, the heat of her skin through the fabric of her dress and corset, set Matthew's world on fire. Everything around him seemed to blurr, nothing existed besides her face, her body, her scent and voice, if only she would speak.

He didn't know what to say himself now that he had the chance. It was that stupefying effect that she always had on him, making him feel rather clumsy and a bit foolish under her critical eyes. Matthew had always hoped that their separation, all those years without her would change how Mary affected him. Or at least minimise the absolute power that she wielded over him...

Nothing had changed, on the contrary. If anything, he felt more possessed by her than ever.

"Matthew?" Mary asked in an uncharacteristically shy voice.

He realised that he'd been staring at her and made an effort to look more normal.

"Mary?" he replied dumbly, then licked his lips in nervous confusion.

She shook her head slightly at his evident discomfort. Why in heaven's name had he asked her to dance only to end up fidgeting as if he wanted to run off?

"You look as if you had a little bit too much wine." she teased and he chuckled. He hadn't really, having declined most of the drinks on offer tonight. A wise decision, seen as he was barely able to control his tongue as it was.

"Would that make you uncomfortable?" he wondered, trying not to sound put out.

"No. It's just...amusing." Uncomfortable was hardly the word to describe what Mary felt in his arms. It was overwhelming - and dangerous. Why must he still have the power to turn her into a pathetic puddle of need and longing with just one touch? She hated this weakness...

As if to reassure herself, Mary straightened her shoulders. He noticed her stiffness and took it as a bad sign. Maybe he should not hold her so closely...

"Would you rather I had not asked you?" Matthew wondered quietly. Did she want him to release her? He couldn't help himself and clasped her a little tighter still.

Mary shivered again, a secret part of her wishing that he would hold her _properly_ in his arms, so that she could also wrap her arms around his neck and tenderly trace his face with her fingertips...

For the first time, she looked up into Matthew's face for more than a brief second and the sight made her breath hitch. Matthew's eyes were burning into her, pale blue and full of an emotion so deep and pure that Mary dared not to name it even to herself.

When she had still not answered, Matthew cast down his eyes, unwittingly giving her a chance to recover her wits.

"What?" she asked, mildly annoyed. Mary was so disconcerted by what she had seen that it became difficult to keep up a polite demeanour.

"I saw you with him." Matthew murmured, still staring down on their shuffling feet.

"With whom?"

Was she just playing dumb or playing with his heart again, he thought with mounting frustration.

"Your _fiancé._" Matthew clarified. „I saw how much you enjoyed dancing with him." He pursed his lips and fixed her with a hard gaze.

"So is this love then, Mary? Is this your_ true love_?" His crooked smile did nothing to soften the sneer in his tone. Anger flashed in his eyes.

Mary was shocked by his rudeness. What had come over him to suddenly behave thus? Frantically she racked her brain for past hints that she may have overlooked, for indications or past comments that would would cause him to sound so utterly...

Finally she shook her head, frowning deeply. There was nothing. So what did this mean, all of a sudden? Was he jealous?

It almost sounded like it, but it could not be! He didn't _want_ her anymore, hadn't wanted to marry her when given the chance! Did he just want to hurt her for the sake of it, or to reap vengeance because she had been reluctant to take him? Could he not bear to see her happy?

No. Mary decided it on the spot. Matthew was many things: stubborn, a little bit petty, self-righteous at times...but he was never malicious. Never.

"_You_ didn't love me." The indignant huff had escaped her lips before she knew what she was doing.

Matthew stopped dead, staring at her incredulously. Mary tried to withdraw from his arms then, but found herself as paralysed as he was. His face was contorted with surpressed emotion.

"How can you...how _dare _you?" he hissed, hurt and furious at her ridiculous assumption.

"People are looking." she warned, though in reality the dance floor was so stuffed with other dancers that they were hardly noticed. "So?" he said simply and danced with her towards the edge of the hall, where he pulled her quickly behind a large wooden column.

By some lucky chance, no one seemed to have paid attention their argument. And luckily, no one could how Captain Crawley cradled his cousin's face in between his hands now, to confront her in the half darkness with the idiocy of her allegation.

"_Oh God Mary_...you must know how much I love you! I'd loved you from the first moment I saw you and I'd wanted to share my life with you, everything that I have, I wanted to lay at your feet! You know it now and you knew it back then! So please just stop playing with me and keep to the truth at least!" As soon as these tremulous confessions had broken from his lips, Matthew was overcome by an odd sense of peace . Something he had not experienced in years.

What he told her was nothing but the truth and just as the old saying goes, the truth seemed to set him free. Matthew drew a shuddering breath as he felt a great sense of relief wash over him. To have said these words to Mary felt exhilerating.

Fighting in this horrible war, everytime he had to go over the top to face the guns, uncertain of his survival, these words gnawed at his soul. He had wanted to say them, to declare himself to her, so desperately...

Mary felt her legs tremble. If he had not held her up against the ebony wood of the pillar, she was sure she'd have sunken to the floor. The meaning of his words slowly trickled through the armour of her self-defensive brain, allowing her to indulge in the sweet realisation that Matthew was still in love with her, still wanted her! _Her_...not Lavinia. Despite everything, she had been the one that he loved and oh how she loved him!

The truth was almost too much to bear and she had to look away from his earnest face and that beseeching look in his eyes. Love. There it was. How could she have been so blind not to have seen it before? A small burst of laughter escaped her, nervous and bitter, as tears started to prickle behind her eyelids.

Matthew's heart was pounding wildly as he watched her reaction. Surely it wasn't news to her, she must have known how he felt, how he had always felt for her. When she laughed, he tried not to be hurt, though it did bring back horrible memories of all those times when she had laughed at him, and his bourgeoise ways.

"Oh God..._Matthew_." she whimpered softly then, and he finally saw the tears clinging to her fine dark lashes. The sight made his heart burst as if it had been freed from a great shackle. He must have repressed it for too long. And she was so close, fully in his arms, her heavenly scent clouding every fibre of his brain. For this one sweet moment she was entirely his.

They were only distantly aware of the orchestra playing on and the people around them, talking, dancing and laughing. Both couldn't care less. Mary gasped, then moaned softly when he finally pressed his trembling mouth upon hers. She parted her lips to slide them tenderly over his, eliciting a low rumbling sound from his chest. It made him feel primal, heady...alive.

For the first time in three long years, Matthew felt as if he still owned a soul, a part of him that he thought had gone lost in the trenches of France in 1914. Now, in this very instant, he was certain that it had never been lost at all. No, it had been here with her, all those years.

A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye as he deepened their kiss. His knees almost gave out when he could finally feel Mary kissing him back with a passion that matched his own.

She knew it was wrong, so wrong and forbidden. Mary knew it, but she simply couldn't bring herself to care enough to stop it.

His words of love still rang through her mind as she clung to his shoulders, only dimly aware of the voices behind them. It felt so good to be held once more in his arms, his mouth firmly against hers, the delicious friction of warm moist lips and the shy probing of his tongue against her lower lip. She wanted nothing more than to open up to him, to give herself to him in every conceivable way. Her leg jerked up, instinctively trying to wrap around his body, to pull him more fully against hers. Oh let this never end, she thought, allowing her tears fall at long last.

He _loved_ her, Matthew _loved _her! And she loved him and this was right! How could anything that felt so overwhelmingly right possibly be wrong? The word stuck in her mind though...wrong..._wrong_...She had once let herself be overwhelmed by her desires for a man. And it had been_ wrong_, it had ruined everything!

Without breaking her lips from his, Mary pushed slightly against his chest in weak protest. His kiss, in turn, became more urgent. So instead of pushing him away, Mary ended up pulling at the lapels of his mess kit, craving more, more of him...

"MARY! What are you doing? Oh my God!" The shrill sound of Edith's voice broke harshly through the blissful haze of their kiss. Mary finally pushed him off and he let go, stumbling backwards with a stunned expression. Three people stared at each other aghast in the half darkness.

"Edith...this is not what it...it's not..." Mary found it hard to recover her wits and her usual composure. She angrily wiped at her cheeks, where her tears, and some of his, were sticking. Matthew was silent, watching her as intently as her sister.

"But, I don't understand..." Edith finally burst out as she took a step towards Mary. "Are you..together again? What of Evelyn? And Lavinia?" Edith demanded, her eyes wandering accusingly from one to the other.

Matthew opened his mouth to reply, but Mary cut over him. "NO! We're not. So please...just forget what you saw...I know, I will." she said with harsh determination, having caught herself at last.

Whatever would happen, there mustn't be a scandal, not another one! Edith was the last person whom Mary would entrust with her feelings and she would be damned if she allowed her malicious sister to ruin her life for a second time...

However, it wasn't Edith who appeared scandalised at Mary's words. Matthew stared at her in blank horror, his face as white as the snow that swivelled outside the hall's windows behind them.

"How can you..." he started then, but she had quickly put a gloved hand over his lips, effectively shushing him. "Think of Lavinia!" she said firmly. The name of his fiancée arrested Matthew's protest.

Without another word, Mary shook off his hands and strode away, Edith following in her wake.

Matthew felt as if she had just taken a swing at him. Of course she was right! They were both engaged to others, there was no denying or ignoring the facts. Finally, cold remorse gripped him as he fully realised what they had just done. Poor Lavinia did not deserve this. He had kissed another woman behind her back, in a room full of people and without any thought of her whatsoever!

There was no justifying himself. He was a scoundrel of the worst sort. Not only had he betrayed his promise to Lavinia, he had also endangered Mary's reputation! Half devouring her in the middle of a public event, where anyone could have caught them. They had been lucky that it had only been her sister, for God's sake! If it had been someone else...he could not even begin to imagine the extend of the scandal...

"What on earth are you doing here in the dark?" Isobel asked cheerfully when she found him leaned against a pillar, one hand covering his eyes.

"I've got a headache, Mother. I think, I'd better go home." he lied.

"Well, I was looking for you to tell you that I'm heading home myself now. Cousin Violet is taking the car to the Dowager house and offered to drop me off. You may join me if you wish and I could give you something against the headache. I'm going to stay at Crawley House, mind you. And I believe your things are still at Downton..."

Matthew had not really followed his mother's speech. His eyes had involuntarily caught on Mary who held onto the arm of Napier across the room.

The sight infuriated him, not so much because of Napier, but because of Mary's complacency. How could she suddenly_ switch_ from one man onto the other? She actually looked perfectly content, smiling and chatting with her fiancé as if nothing untoward had occured.

"Unbelievable..." he muttered.

"Oh you can well believe it...it was you after all who insisted on staying at Downton this time, so I fear there is nothing at home for you now." Isobel interrupted his drift. Matthew blinked at her, confused and terribly tired all of a sudden.

"What? Err...no, thank you. I'd rather wait and drive back with the family later. Good night, Mother." he said quickly, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"If you're sure." She stared at him worriedly for a moment. "I suppose Lavinia would also rather stay on for a while." Isobel mused, watching him closer.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Good night." Matthew repeated, chosing to disregard her jibe about Lavinia. He knew that he had to do right by her, but in this instant, he could not face the guilt on top of the pain about Mary's behaviour.

Once Isobel was gone, Matthew pulled himself up and straightened his formal attire.

_Be sensible_, he admonished himself. Y_ou're an officer and a lawyer, you know what's right and wrong. You know how to control yourself and how to handle your emotions, so bloody well do it now! _

He took a deep calming breath, trying to decided what to do. No more talking - no more scenes. It was as simple as that. Still, he could watch Mary, to see whether she can keep up the facade of cold perfection and calm indifferent for the remainder of the evening.

Perhaps this was wrong, too, but he could hardly revert back to being as unaffected as he had been before this wretched ball. Pretense and self-deception only went so far...

There is no harm in observing, surely, he reasoned.

And the timing could not be better, as a round of Christmas games were about to start, so he finally moved to join the crowd of people gathered at the south side of the hall.

Isobel had stayed a few more minutes and watched her son from a distance right after their odd conversation. She finally left with an uneasy feeling.

Something had occured within the last hour...and it had changed him. Fundamentally so. Of that Isobel was absolutely certain.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **_Apologies for the mega delay in update! I'm so thrilled about the reviews, thank you all so much! So of course I mustn't abandon this thing and I won't. It's moving slowly, but we're getting there ;) Hopefully I'll have some more time in the next month to update! Well..here we go again, still at the ball (the longest ball in the history of writing I fear :)_

**XVII. **

Mary was soon cornered by Edith behind the buffet table.

"I can't believe what I just saw! What on earth were you thinking?" Edith hissed, staring at Mary as if she had just grown a second head. Her outrage was also directed at herself, given that she was in part to blame for this escapade. Had she not provoked Matthew so much during their dance, perhaps this wouldn't have happened...

"Will you please be quiet!" Mary whispered back sharply, desperate to get away from this conversation, but her sister had her wrist in a death grip. She sighed in resignation.

"I wasn't thinking, that's the problem! And believe me, it will never happen again, so can we _please_ just let this go?" The pleading tone in Mary's voice did soften Edith a little, she was not used to seeing Mary so vulnerable.

"You are impossible!" she spat at Mary, then finally released her arm.

"Really, Edith..." Mary whispered, eyes cold and a rueful smile on her lips. "...you know me to have done worse things that this." If Mary's intention had been to guilt Edith into silence, she had accomplished it. At the mention of her betrayal, Edith decided that it was best to leave Mary to her own mess. For now. And perhaps she really ought to stop meddling into her sister's affairs...

"Where have _you_ been hiding?" Sybil asked out of nowhere, peeking over Edith's shoulder. "Cousin Freddy and the Mitchells want to play 'Blind man's bluff'. I'm not playing without you, so come on, please!"

Both elder sisters groaned, then eyed Sybil suspiciously.

"What's got you into such a playful mood all of a sudden?" Mary asked, glancing over her shoulder to where the younger people were congregating in a circle.

"Me? Why wouldn't I be? It's Christmas..." Sybil muttered nervously. Branson's effect on her mood must have become evident. "Evelyn is also looking for you, so you should definitely come." she said evasively and took Mary's hand to pull her away without further ado. Edith trotted after them, still unnerved by the scene she had witnessed.

Cousin Freddy, a tall red-haired barrister from London, stood inside a small circle of people.

"Since we're all in a festive mood by now, thanks to assorted refreshments..." he glanced pointedly at a drunk Jeremy Brook who had to be steadied by two other men. People snickered.

Matthew did not feel like laughing, having just spotted Mary turn up next to Napier. He took her hand, evidently relieved to see his fiancée.

"...so we thought it's time for a bit of festive fun and games. By popular vote, we've decided to play Blind Man's Bluff." Some people groaned, other's jeered.

"Where were you?" a female voice hissed into Matthew's left ear. He jumped and turned to see Lavinia next to him and the wave of guilt he had managed to push down washed over him once more with a vengeance.

"Mother has gone home." he said, as if this explained the matter. "Look, something's going on." He quickly nodded towards Cousin Freddy to distract his fiancée. They watched the games in tense silence, both knowing that they needed to talk.

"Anyone volunteering to start?" Freddy asked enthusiastically and in vain. Nobody spoke up. "Naturally...I suppose that means I'll go first."

Lady Meredith Barclay came forth, put a large crimson silk scarf over his eyes and tied it in the back. She waved a hand before his face to make sure he didn't see a thing, then retreated quickly, as he was already making a grasp for her. He found Lady Clarissa first, then George Orwood but guessed them both wrong. Finally, he found Jeremy Brook and probably recognized the smell of drink on him. Brook in turn was surprisingly quick at recognising Lady Meredith, then complained that it was already over for him.

The funniest instance, at least to everyone else was when Evelyn Napier first mistook Mary for his own sister Charlotte and then Sybil for Mary, pulling her quite close. Tom Branson, who watched from a distance was not amused. Matthew smiled bitterly. Then his eyes met Mary's and he quickly sobered up. The memory of their indiscretion rushed back to them and they blushed at the same time.

Edith suddenly appeared to Mary's left to pull her away. "Mary, Mama is looking for you. She wants to talk to you. It's important." They scurried through the crowd to where the older women of the family were reigning over all proceedings.

"There you are, dear. We have the most marvellous idea how we could raise some extra funds tonight." Cora chirped as she pulled Mary down onto the seat next to hers. It took all of Mary's self-possession not to run into the opposite direction. How could she possibly sit and talk about charity work now when her whole world was unravelling in the course of this accured evening.

With some effort she managed to pull herself together, letting the cold collected mask of haughty indifference settle over her features. "Tell me." she smiled at last.

"How about...an auction? Mama used to do this sort of thing at fund raising balls to support the war against the Confederates in the sixties." Cora recounted with unabashed excitement.

Instinctively, Mary shot a look at the old Ladies. Granny had already left, but Lady Gresham and the Viscountess of Pembroke still looked alert and ready to make an argument. Indeed, the latter did not look too impressed.

"The trouble is, most gentlemen have already danced with a Lady tonight...repeatedly." Rosamund threw in.

"Quite so. We might have borrowed that concept at the start of the ball, but it is already..." Mary turned to look at the grand old clock at the head of the room. "...it's half past ten. People will be tired of dancing for now. But maybe later." she concluded and left her seat, eager to make an escape. If only there was a way to leave this wretched ball entirely.

"Wait." Rosamund commanded, fixing Mary with the same imperious glare that Granny would employ. "We could make so much more out of tonight, Mary. You know we are in a bit of a competition with the other counties, who have raised decidedly more funds in the past year than than our region. Believe me, all of London talks about who puts in the most effort! What a triumph it would be if our little Christmas gathering could become as successful as any big rally in the capital."

Her self-important speech annoyed Mary greatly and she fought the urge to roll her eyes at her aunt. "So what do you propose?" she sighed. Rosamund looked to her left and right, as if she was about to let Mary in on a secret. "A kiss. We are going to auction off a kiss." Rosamund whispered, her eyes glittering with something that looked remarkably like mischief.

"You...what?" Mary was speechless. She had expected many things from her shrewd Lady Aunt, but nothing the like. Edith was just as shocked. "You want to _kiss _someone for money, Aunt Rosamund?" she asked, pushing Mary halfway off her chair as she crammed in with her.

"For heaven's sake, not _me_!" Rosamund chided. „Mary will!"

Both Mary and Edith stared at their aunt in blank disbelief, then at their mother, who was smiling awkwardly. Finally, they shared a look along with their seat, asking each other the same question: Had they seen Mary kissing Matthew? Was this a ploy to make her confess?

"Well, what do you say? I know, it sounds rather _risqué_, but really in times like _these_, it seems a small sacrifice..." Rosamund argued, skillfully pulling the war card. Apparently everything _was_ fair in love and war.

Cora leaned in. "Mary, darling. You don't have to, if you don't want to. But we think that you are the most likely of all of us to do it, without it being too much of a scandal..." Mary's eyes went wide. "I'm engaged!" Cora was momentarily stunned by Mary's lack of cool. "Well, that's the point. We shall ask Evelyn for his permission, of course. It would only have to be a small peck... no one would expect more of you."

Mary felt sweat on her palms within her silken gloves. How could she say no when it was all for a charitable cause, _her_ charitable cause for that matter. She was backed into a corner. "Thank heavens Granny has gone to bed." she finally muttered in resignation and looked uneasily at the crowd of people, some still playing games, others dancing idly.

Then she saw Matthew pacing by the table of refreshments. Their kiss had struck feelings inside her that she had thought long buried. Of course he was deluding himself if he thought he could just get out of his engagement and she would follow him. They had both tied themselves up and now it was too late...

Little did she know that Matthew determined quite the opposite from across the room. How could it be fair or right to marry partners they neither wished to spend their lives with? Would it not lead to more heartache, more pain and suffering for all of them?

"Darling, I want to go now." Lavinia said next to him, her small sheep's voice dropping into his thoughts like a pitcher of ice. He stared at her, and his throat closed up as he tried to speak. It was impossible...how could he do this to her? What sort of scoundrel would even contemplate dropping an innocent woman, to cast her aside like an old shoe...to entertain the mere idea was reprehensible!

Part of him was loath to admit that he would not hesitate so much if Mary had given him more encouragement. He truly felt like a villain as he gazed into Lavinia's wide green eyes. He ought to confess it at least...what he...what_ they_ had done...

"Lavinia...I..." he began, but was immediately shushed by her hand over his mouth. "Don't! Don't even go there, Matthew. I know what this is about." she whispered, her eyes narrowing. "Do you think I'm stupid? That I haven't seen...or heard what everyone's been whispering? Do you think me a simpleton just because I've endured it quietly?" Her voice was raised enough to attract the attention of one or two bystanders, so she took his arm and pulled him into a corner of the hall that was less crowded. They sat down on one of the wooden benches.

"I'm so sorry, Lavinia." Matthew said miserably and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry." He did not know what else he could offer. Of course she must have noticed...

"It's alright, you know. I understand." she said then, surprisign him further. Her hand grasped one of his and she squeezed it tightly. „You have doubts. That's nothing unusual..." she said kindly, although he thought he could detect a hint of sharpness behind it her words. "But...I..." he tried again and was shushed once more.

"Don't even phrase it...I don't want to hear it! I know this is just a passing whim, because we're here...where she is." There was a definitive edge to her sweet voice now and all he could do was blink and stare at the small gentle creature next to him, who possessed such a undercurrent sharpness.

Matthew pressed his lips together in a hard line. Lavinia's words were meant to sooth his agitation, to dispense with his doubts. But instead, her speech only made him wish to release her of this illusion and tell the truth. The whole truth.

He wanted to tell her that it was more than just cold feet or hesitation. He wanted to confess that he did not love her, that he had never loved her, not the way he was supposed to. He wanted to tell her that he had only ever loved Mary...only ever wanted to _marry_ Mary...

Perhaps it was a blessing that Lavinia refused to give him a chance to say it, to unburden himself...

And then something very distracting happened.

Evelyn Napier climbed on a chair and asked for people to quieten down. "Please, my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen. If I could have your attention for a moment. The magnificent Ladies who have planned and made this charity ball such a success have put forth an idea to raise some more funds for the 'Women's and Children of War Foundation'." The music had stopped and people started to gather, although there was still a general buzz and murmur audible. "The Lady who has put the most effort into this project is of course my fiancée, Lady Mary Crawley."

Matthew stood and slowly edged closer to the crowd. Lavinia had no choice but to follow.

"And now, she has agreed to take part in a little auction to raise more found for the war cause. Let me assure you at this point that this idea has been sanctioned by herself and her family." Evelyn glanced at Mary. "Needless to say that from where I am concerned, this offer is a one time only opportunity." He smiled wryly. "Because we ask for your bids to auction off one kiss from my Lady Mary." He finally announced and immediately a great hubbub broke out.

All eyes were on Mary now who stood next to Napier's chair, smiling with uncharacteristic unease. She could hear people's whispers and comments even from where she stood. It _was_ a scandalous idea, war or no war. Her smile was tight and fell the moment she heard the Dowager Countess of Ross say to her companion: "Really...Violet Crawley ought to be ashamed to allow such goings-on."

Matthew slowly made his way through the crowd as he watched Mary, searching her eyes. Did she really want to do this? Kiss any randomer who offered enough money? It was not only an indecent idea, but also terribly unfair and it somehow reminded him of something Mary had said when they were younger...when he had almost dispensed with the hope of even becoming her friend.

_My life makes me angry._

Was he the only one who saw the discomfort that seemed to shake her frame or the way she nervously fiddled with her necklace? He knew she did not want to do this at all. But it was as she said, the game of her life: pay calls, work for charity until she found someone rich who'd have her.

The highest bidder...no matter whether she cared for him or not. And yet, she did care...

"Eighty." Matthew shouted across the crowd. The bid had started at fifty pounds and quickly rose into hundreds. Mary had noticed a lot of young men she had once thwarted were now bidding, probably enjoying the way they could humiliate her by treating her like cattle at an auction. Again, the image of a prize cow came back to her mind and she groaned inwardly.

Evelyn conducted the auction with remarkable calm, a fact that Mary found even more absurd. But she suspected it gave him some sort of control over the whole affair and she could not blame him for it.

Indeed, Evelyn Napier felt like things were slowly slipping out of control. The quick succession of hands that flew up, followed by shouts of sums that had already reached 120 pounds within minutes. Mary was too beautiful for her own good. Still, the hand that bothered Evelyn the most was Matthew Crawley's that never missed a beat. He never knew that lawyerrs earned so much as to throw it around like this...

Neither did Matthew. He knew it was stupid and headless, but there was no stopping it now. If Mary had to kiss someone, it should not be some stranger that she despised! When they had arrived at 300, Matthew's heart sank. At this point there were only two men left in the bid. The rest had probably realized how ridiculous this auction was getting and decided they'd rather spend their gold on more available treasures.

The other bidder was Sir Richard Carlisle, the newspaper mogul from London, whom he had encountered at the Swire's. He remembered what Carlisle had said about Mary, after meeting her at some house party. Matthew frowned at the memory. The man had been quite certain that Mary would settle on him...perhaps he was annoyed now that she had taken Napier after all.

"Four hundred pounds!" Sir Richard intoned calmly and triumphantly, shooting a side glace at the young blonde officer who appeared rather anxious to over-bid him.

Evelyn Napier was relieved. The highest bidder was some old nouveau riche. That ought to put Matthew Crawley in his place. With satisfaction he saw Mary's cousin lower his hand, obviously beaten. He could not offer more than he owned. For the very first and probably last time in his life, Matthew actually coveted the money he would inherit one day.

"Go higher, I'll back you." a familiar voice whispered into his ear. Lord Grantham had quietly appeared behind him. Without thinking, or even looking over his shoulder, Matthew did as he was told: "Four fifty." Napier had just been about to announce that the bid went to Sir Richard. Now everyone turned around to stare at Matthew, wondering what had got into the otherwise sensible young Captain.

"Make it five hundred next." Robert hissed into Matthew's ear, acting as the devil on his shoulder.

Mary watched this scene with a mixture of incredulity and fury. There was her father, egging on the man that she unfortunately loved to _pay_ for kissing her, with her fiancé taking bids from him and Sir Richard Carlisle, the uncouth newspaper man she had met at Clivedon and rejected after a closer acquaintance. And what was Matthew doing this for anyways? He'd only just kissed her an hour ago...

Everything felt surreal to her. And she had no idea what she wished would happen. If only she could run from this scene. She hated this, all of this! Being made into a prize to be won by the highest bidder. The story of her life.

"That's er...five hundred pounds from...err...do we get more?" Evelyn called, looking pointedly at Carlisle, who was finally done. Not because he could not afford it, of course. But he had observed something rather interesting in the past few minutes. There had been a look that passed between the beautiful Lady Mary and this cousin of hers who bid his entire savings for one measly kiss.

It had made him curious as to what may be going on between this odd couple. She was engaged after all and he was supposed to marry little Lavinia Swire. The whole thing had a whiff of scandal about it and Sir Richard was always intruiged by scandal. What an exciting story to follow! With a broad smile he declined Evelyn Napier's encouragement to raise the stake, far more interested in what would happen next.

"The bid goes to Captain Crawley." Evelyn said with little enthusiasm. "Congratulations." Matthew couldn't believe it and the reality of what he's done suddenly hit him. He licked his lips and spoke over his shoulder "I'll pay you back, you know." But Robert had disappeared and the whispers and murmurs grew louder around him. Evelyn Napier was still standing on that chair, eying the 'winner' tensely. "Well...I suppose it's a relief that it's only her cousin." he joked loudly and people laughed. Matthew knew the comment was aimed at him. A warning.

The moment he faced Mary, Matthew became horrbily aware of the fact that he was actively forcing himself on her. What if she did not want to kiss him again? What on earth was he doing here? When he stepped closer, he saw the tension in her jaw and the troubled look in her deep brown eyes. She seemed utterly distraught at this whole affair. And still, she held her head up bravely.

He leaned down, but instead of aiming for her mouth, he dragged his lips away from hers, to press a lingering kiss onto her burning cheek. "I'm so sorry." he whispered into her ear. It had only been a peck, as Cora had promised, harmless and innocent to those who did not perceive how Mary pressed a trembling hand onto her cousin's chest. Or how Matthew's hand in turn covered hers and held it firmly against his heart.

People applauded politely, some inebriated youths even cheered. Thanks to Cora's quick thinking, the orchestra had been ordered to play up again and people soon engaged in conversation. Mary was so quickly pulled away from Matthew by her mother with a stroppy "Well done, dear." and settled next to Lady Sylvia, that she felt quite dazed.

Matthew blinked in confusion for a second, then sighed heavily. Behind him, Evelyn Napier appeared and cleared his throat. "A word, Captain Crawley?" he requested and nodded stiffly towards the exit. "Very well." Matthew replied just as coldly. They left for the entrance of the village hall. Their exchange had gone nearly unnoticed, except by two people. Mary for one, who watched them anxiously, not listening to any of Lady Sylvia's tedious story of her secret kiss with George Skelton behind the Doncaster stables.

The second person was Robert, who felt that perhaps he had gone too far in encouraging Matthew's amorous endeavours, which now threatened to escalate. "Bates!" he called his valet, who was dancing slowly and clumsily with the head housemaid nearby. "Sorry to disturb, old chap. But I may need your help. Get Carson, too, if you can." Bates let go of Anna. "Of course, your lordship." he said, following his orders dutifully. Anna, having caught this exchange, quickly made her way to Lady Mary. "What's going on, Anna? Tell me." Mary demanded as she was moved into the direction her father took, where she had seen her fiancé and her cousin disappear to moments before.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Going with the flow at the moment, for as long as I've got time to write! Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. They keep me on my toes :) **

**XVIII.**

"...I'd been a fool. I understood that you are her cousin and her friend, but..." Evelyn was at a loss. He did not want to let the rage have him, but it was getting harder by the hour. Who was this man who would under normal circumstances barely scratch at his attention? A middle-class lawyer, a _doctor's son,_ who presumed his luck with the entail entitled him to have an upper class Lady like Mary along with it.

Matthew stared at the wall behind Napier. Being faced with his own conduct made him feel ashamed and miserable. There was no right and no wrong in this. He knew that he shouldn't have kissed her...both time. But there was also a hurt, jealous part of him told him that wanted to keep up a stubborn stance. Who was Napier to tell him off, when he himself conducted this ridiculous auction? Did he think he was the better man here?

They stared at each other for a moment, both taking in their oppenent. There was no doubt anymore what they were to each other now. Rivals. Not officially perhaps. But there could be no mistake that they both loved the same woman...

"Have you even _thought_ of your fiancée? The poor girl must be humiliated!" Evelyn spat at him.

Matthew winced at the mention of Lavinia. Of course he hadn't thought of her in that moment. That was the horrible truth of the matter and the guilt he felt over it was so overwhelming that he could barely handle it. There was no justifying himself or his actions, so he didn't even try and remained silent.

"What do you hope you'll gain from this? That Mary will change her mind and call it off with me?" Evelyn laughed harshly at the ridiculous idea. "She doesn't want any of this. I believe you had your chance before the war..." The mention of their brief courtship cut into Matthew's heart. There were seme memories he tried to avoid as much as possible.

Matthew took a deep breath and pulled himself up. They were both men of honour, soldiers, leaders even. If _they_ lost their heads and acted out in those terrible days, what would happen next? He had to see reason and Napier was right. Even if he resented the man for having what he himself had lost, he could not quarrel with him. Not without losing his last shred of dignity.

"Don't worry. I just didn't want her to be flung at some random stranger." Matthew said stiffly. It was only partly a lie. Napier nodded just as formally and turned to go, when Matthew's arm suddenly flung out to hold him in place. "Wait."

"I know you're right. Mary has made her choice and she'll abide by it. But if..." Matthew spoke through gritted teeth now, his breath coming in short angry bursts. "..._if_ I ever hear of you forcing her into something...I don't care if it's merely a dress or a bleeding auction or a summer holiday...if I _ever_ hear of her being pressured into doing something against her will...you'll have me to answer to." The threat in his voice carried to his eyes.

Napier stared at him in shock and took a step back. "What? Coming from _you_?" he burst out. All their formal British composure was trickling away like sand in an hourglass. "Could you sound anymore hypocritical? What do you think you just did?" Evelyn snapped, throwing a hand out to gesture at the ballroom full of people.

Matthew was stunned by the accusation and by the verity of it. He _had _just imposed his kiss on Mary, there were no two ways about it. "At least I can see when I've done wrong." he spluttered. "And it doesn't change the fact that you'll be responsible for her wellfare...and I don't want to see anything like tonight ever again. Is that understood?" With these menacing words, he meant to bow out of the tense situation, but his threat had finally done away with Napier's patience.

He grabbed Matthew by the collar and pulled him backwards. The scruffle only lasted about a minute before both men were pulled apart, Matthew held back by Carson and Evelyn by Robert. Bates limped in as well, followed a moment later by Mary and Anna. The orchestra was playing 'God rest ye merry gentlemen' somewhere in the distance. "What is this nonesense? Are you drunk or have you gone _mad_?" Robert's furious voice rang through the awkward silence that followed.

Both Matthew and Evelyn were breathing heavily, whilst trying to straighten their mess kits and flatten their tousled hair. They were both shaken by their own potential for aggression. It was scary. For a moment, it had almost felt as if the trenches had broken out of their more civilised selves and the war had followed them all the way to this place...

"I'm terribly sorry." Matthew apologised first, though he looked at Robert and Mary, rather than his opponent. He wasn't actually sorry, nor was Napier, he suspected. "Yes, I don't know what came over me..." Evelyn addressed Mary. "It's alright." she replied and put a her hand gently on his forearm. Matthew's eyes flicked to the little gesture and he quickly averted them.

Robert frowned. "Mary, take your fiancé away and let me have a word with Matthew." he said sternly. It was an order. "Yes, Papa." Mary quickly heeded. To Matthew's surprise and anguish, she threw him a withering glare before she turned on her heels and departed, dragging her fiancé behind.

Both Carson and Robert looked after her. They knew that Mary got the most angry when she felt the most pain, whereas Matthew took her fury at face value. He hung his head. Perhaps it was time to leave. He'd been wanting to do so all night. Without thinking, he turned to head for the door, but this time it was Robert who threw his arm out to push him hard in the chest.

It was a reaction Matthew had not expected and for the first time he really looked at his elder cousin, the man who had been the closest he had to a father in a long time. "I'm sorry I started this." Robert admitted. "But you're making it worse."

Matthew stared at him, meaning to protest for a split second. Robert was right of course. All of them were right. "I'm done." he muttered and his whole posture sagged and deflated like a punctured balloon. Suddenly he looked less than impressive in his officer's uniform. Just a man who was defeated in every conceivable way.

"No, listen." Robert said more gently. "_I'm_ to blame for all of this. I encouraged you for days, without thinking how far this was going. It's Mary's life I've been playing with...and yours. And it's not a party game." he rubbed a hand over his brow, looking truly repentant.

Carson withdrew, followed by Bates. They could tell this was getting personal.

"I agree." Matthew conceded bleakly. Robert smiled and put a hand on Matthew's shoulder, glad to see that there was still a good deal of reason and common sense left in his heir.

"It has to be _her_ choice, not yours or mine...or Napier's. And pressuring her or bullying Napier is just plain stupid, Matthew." Robert concluded. Matthew nodded gravely. "I know that." He hesitated and took a step back. „But I'm starting to think that...we've both made the _wrong_ choice..."

Robert secretly thought the same, but it would not do to say it now. There had been enough confusion for one night. "Perhaps. I'll talk to Mary at some point, just to make sure that..."

"No. Don't." Matthew shook his head vehemently. "Let her be. We'll all just...let her be." he said with conviction.

Without further ado, Robert nodded and turned to walk back into the hall. Matthew sighed and took slow steps towards the entrance of the hall, but stopped at its mouth to remain in the darkness. From afar, he could see Mary who was standing next to a grand piano and singing 'Hark! The herald angels sing'. Her eyes were big and mournful, looking up at something above and far away. The crowd hung onto her lips in silent awe.

Matthew felt more defeated than ever. If Mary loved him, like he loved her, she would not hesitate and she would not have hesitated three years ago. And she would not think twice of marrying someone else. Involuntarily, his eyes wandered over to Napier, who seemed to have all but forgot about their falling out and smiled proudly at his fiancée's performance.

Next to him stood Lavinia, not looking at Mary. She was searching for something. And she found it. Their eyes met and Matthew made a movement with his hand, indicating for her to come to him.

Time to be honest. It may be the worst of timing imaginable, but Matthew felt that he was doing Lavinia nothing but a favour at this point. He had made such an exhibition of himself about Mary and he had humiliated Lavinia in the process. So he really owed her a release from this whole charade...

"Matthew, I've been looking for you all over. What in heaven's name got into you tonight, you are behaving _bizarrly_!" Her forbidding tone made him flinch.

"I'm really sorry." he said stiffly, still half-concealed in the doorway. She edged closer to him, but his strange demeanour made her retreat again. "Are you _drunk_, Matthew?" she asked, sounding appalled. There was no tell-tale smell about him though.

"No. But...Lavinia, we really need to talk." He said firmly, stepping forward to put his hands on her shoulders and fix her eyes with his. "Please...please, just listen for a moment and let me ask you this..." This time, she did not argue or try to shut him up. "Is this really what you want?" he asked calmly. "You are a wonderful, beautiful young woman...quite perfect in fact. You could have any man you set your cap at." he laughed quietly. "Just not you?" Lavinia breathed, then pressed her lips together. Matthew felt like an utter scoundrel. It was one thing to have your own heart broken, but to break someone else's was perhaps the most painful thing he'd ever done in his life.

"The fact is, I'm not worthy of your love, you know." She huffed at that. "It's true. You deserve a man who loves you with his whole heart, who is devoted...only to you." Matthew licked his lips, forcing himself to go on. He hated everything about this, hated himself for hurting this sweet, innocent girl, who had been nothing but good to him. Still...in the end, he owed her the truth. "I could never love you like that. I wish I could, but I can't...and I would make you unhappy." He knew his words were nothing but a lame and shallow excuse and there was nothing he could say to ever make it up to her.

Lavinia blinked and looked aside for a second. Anger made her head spin. She had known this would come, she had felt it all night, but now that he actually said it, she still wasn't prepared for it. What should she do now? Start crying and appeal to his sympathy or get angry and rack up his guilt? How could she get him to change his mind? Despite anything, she was determined to hold onto him. They belonged together after all.

"You can't do this to me." she whispered, loud enough that he caught it. "I have done nothing wrong." She looked up at him, her green eyes full of accusation. "Of course not. You haven't done anything wrong, anything at all. And I will make sure that everyone knows that I am entirely to blame. I will do or say anything you want me to." he rambled fiercely, and she could see tears clinging to his lashes.

Matthew was distraught by his own words and actions. Robert's words came back to him, about leaving the choice to Mary. He wasn't leaving any choice to Lavinia now either and he felt nothing but awful about it. She was silent for a moment. From shock he gathered. In reality, Lavinia was weighing her options. He sounded so determined and talked with such conviction...

"How do you think it would look then, if we broke off our engagement and next month you'll get married to Mary Crawley? I mean, that's what this is all about, isn't it? She's caught you after all and you can't wait to get rid of me to marry her!" Guilt, she decided, was her best ally.

Matthew winced. If only she were right, he thought miserably. The fact that she was entirely mistaken may soften the blow, however, so he chose to tell her. "I won't marry my cousin." he pressed out, looking down at his shoes. The truth of his statement was painful to him.

"You're lying." Lavinia accused him. She had seen enough tonight to know what was going on. "I swear to you on my father's grave, there is no understanding between Mary and me. On the contrary...I doubt she would ever see me again." he muttered, still inspecting the tips of his shoes.

"And why would that be?" she wondered. "Mary doesn't love me." he stated blankly. "_I _could have told you that." Lavinia sneered, with a hint of derision. "Then, why do you want to break _our_ engagement?" she shook her head.

From afar, they could hear the last tunes of Mary's carol, followed by thundering applause. Her sisters had joined in to the last stanza and the cheer of the party seemed to have been restored.

He averted his eyes again from the scene of the Crawley sisters surrounded by friends and admirers. He knew he would never belong to them again, never belong to Mary. And she would never belong to him.

"Because_ I _do love her. Very much." Matthew confessed at long last, looking at Lavinia as if he was imparting to her a piece of most vital information. "And I can't see myself marrying anyone but...her." Lavinia's smug expression collapsed like a soufflé. "This is mad." she hissed, feeling almost sorry for the man across from her.

She was in love with Matthew, and yet, she did not love him so much as to forsake the idea of marriage entirely if she could not have him...which was apparently the way things were heading for her.

Matthew smiled slightly. "Most likely. Even more reason for you to get rid of me." he joked, though it fell flat. "I know it doesn't look that way to you now, but believe me, in the long run, you will see this break-up as a blessing, a lucky escape. That you were lucky enough to get a real chance at happiness. I would never have made you happy, Lavinia. Quite the contrary. You would have ended up hating me." he finished darkly, convinced of his final argument.

He was a good lawyer after all. Now he had to wait for her verdict. Lavinia took another step back from him, mirroring the way Mary had acted only a short while ago.

"I see." she said, "Well Matthew, we would not be the first couple to marry without..."

"But you _deserve_ love! Don't you understand? I can't give you all the things you want from me. I thought I could, when I proposed to you, but I was deluding myself and you as well. And I know it's my mistake for making you believe that we could be happy. And I couldn't feel worse about it..." he was starting to grow desperate. Why was she still trying to argue when he had told her the truth so plainly?

"If it's any consolation to you, I shall be the one who will end up alone and miserable...if I make it through this war, that is." he paused and licked his lips. "You're young, you will find someone else soon, of that I am sure." he said resolutely.

Lavinia nodded at last, which Matthew gratefully took to be consent on her part. Having been raised by an excellent solicitor herself, Lavinia knew when it was better to retreat and think over a new stratefy. She would not argue with him now, but she would not let him off the hook so easily either. She still had the suspicion he was completely wrong in his assessment of Mary's feelings, though it would not do to tell him that...

When Lavinia had gone back to a table, most likely to take a drink to calm her nerves, Matthew leaned back against the panelled wall, heaving a long sigh of relief. It was done. And for the first time in months, he felt that an immense burden had been lifted off his chest. Before now, he had not realized that his engagement to a woman he only tried to love had felt like a noose around his neck.

Now he was free. And alone.

When his eyes made the round for Mary again, he wished to God that he had not looked. A slow waltz was played and Napier held Mary as close as propriety would allow. He whispered something into her ear and she broke out laughing, throwing her head back a little, so that one could see her dark eyes sparkling in the lights of the chandaliers, with tiny crinkles framing them.

_So beautiful. _

He remembered sitting next to Mary when she laughed like this, trying to stifle it with a handkerchief...and how he would desperately try to make her laugh like this when they were alone together, when he had courted her, foolishly believing she would want to share her life with him...

_Enough_. It was enough, he decided. Mary had made her choice and he had made his tonight. He didn't know whether or not he would survive this wretched war, but he would not ruin another woman's happiness for the sake of pretending that he was over his one great love. He didn't even know if he had a future and a life ahead of him, but he would not destroy anyone else's for that matter. Not Lavinia's and certainly not Mary's.

Matthew turned back into the hallway, collected his military coat and cap, threw them on and stepped out into the crisp cold night air. Nobody noticed his departure...


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hello again! Thanks so much for the latest reviews, you're all darlings :) Well, with a look at current weather conditions, this chapter turned out thus...enjoy! **

**Edit: Erm..accidentally re-posted chp. 7 of this. Thank you all who alerted me to it - I blame the overexcitement of writing ;) Hope it's ok now! **

* * *

**XIX.**

At a quater past eleven, the ball was still in full swing. Loud music and boisterous people made it quite impossible to recognize the change in weather outside. More and more snow was coming down by now, and the wind started to flare, slowly but surely. A storm was coming up.

Equally unbeknownst to the cheerful crowd, Lady Sybil Crawley was sneaking out with her father's former chauffeur.

"I know where the car is parked, don't be afraid. No one will have seen us. Just look at them, they all got their noses down their glasses of port." Sybil whispered, dragging Branson by the hand. "Wait here, I need to get my coat from that footman."

Branson stood in the shadows, grinning. He had come here with no expectations at all, and now Sybil was so enthusiastic about their relationship, he could scarcely believe his own luck. Dressed up for the cold, they both ran outside towards where most of the motors were parked, all of them covered under a thick blanket of new snow. The car cover was all decked out in white. He lifted it to help Sybil crawl into the backseat of her father's car, strangely happy to see the old vehicle again.

Just when he was about to follow her inside, a hand fell heavily on his arm. He froze. _Busted_. Now he'd go to jail.

"Take me to Downton, please." He spun around and saw the speaker, Lady Mary Crawley, dressed in her coat, but without her hat. White flocks gathered in her dark brown hair like crystals.

"What is it? Who's there?" Sybil stuck her head out from under the covers to see what the hold-up was. Mary looked at her knowingly. "I saw you two sneak out. Don't worry, I won't tell, you're in no trouble." Mary assured them, looking at Branson's stricken expression. He sure as hell would be in trouble if she _were_ inclined to tell. Stealing his Lordship's car and kidnapping his youngest daughter. Jail would probably be the least of his worries.

"You can drive, can't you?" Mary asked him. "The ball won't be over for another few hours, but I can't stay. I just want to go home." She explained. Branson lifted the covers up higher. "Very well, Milady. Get in."

It had not been an order, as Branson was not a servant anymore, but he still felt obliged to her for all the times she had supported or at least accepted his and Sybil's relationship. Sybil held her arms out for her elder sister, equally touched by Mary's troubled expression.

"Come here, I'll warm you up. Good thing Granny has left a blanket in here before." Mary smiled at her sister's care, again feeling as if Sybil was the eldest and she herself was still the child. "Thank you." she muttered, crawling in close to Sybil, who tucked the blanket around both of them.

It took Branson rather more effort than usual to get the engine going, due to the extrem cold. Finally, the motor roared to life and he hopped in front, strangely happy to be back in the driving seat, if only for a night.

The roads were still passable, but not for much longer, Tom predicted. "The snow is getting worse. There'll be a right storm coming up later, mark my words. We better head back right after dropping you off. I've no idea how they'll get everyone home safe..."

Mary and Sybil exchanged a nervous glance. That didn't sound good. Indeed, once they arrived in front of the Abbey, the wind turned and whirled the thick snowflakes around so wildly, they could barely see what was in front of them.

Sybil remained in the car, while Branson helped Mary out of it and guided her safely to the servant's entrance of the house. The front would be locked up, but they knew where the spare key for the servants was hidden. "Thank you, Branson. Now hurry up and get people home, tell them how bad the weather is getting, if they haven't noticed by now. They ought to close the ball earlier for the sake of safety." Branson nodded. "Very well, Milady."

Mary smiled awkwardly, finding it hard to imagine their former chauffeur might belong to the family soon, even if he was undoubtedly a good and respectable person. "And be careful on your way back with Sybil." she added sternly. Branson nodded. "Of course, don't worry about us."

Once inside, Mary shook the snow out of her hair and coat, while trying to find her way through the darkened labyrinth of the servant's domain. Luckily, she knew her way around here, having come to visit Carson so often in her childhood.

Back upstairs, she hurried to the window of the main library to watch the car shudder to life. It must have taken Branson even longer now to get the motor to function in this cold. She shivered. The entire house was freezing, with no fires in any grate. All the servants were still at the ball.

Good, Mary thought, tonight was supposed to be their treat. They couldn't have known that she'd come back here on her own. She pulled her coat tighter around herself and followed the backlights of the car with her eyes. Suddenly, the lights had illuminated something else that caught her attention.

There...only a few yards away from the house, barely visible through the harsh whirls of snow, a person sat on the bench. _Their_ bench...next to the old fir tree, where she had been with Matthew...in the best of times and the worst.

Who would be sitting there at this time and in this weather? A vagabond perhaps? Or a burglar who had tried to break into the deserted Abbey, but found it locked?

Mary felt a pang of fear, then remembered that she was quite safe inside these walls.

Still, why would he still sit out there and risk being caught by the returning inhabitants of the house? She took a step closer to the window. Maybe she had only imagined there being anyone...or it was merely a branch knocked down by the storm...

Suddenly, the figure moved, turning his head to one side, as if he'd felt someone watching him...

Mary gasped, her face almost pressed against the glass of the window, her breath clouding it even as she whispered his name.

Without thinking twice, she pulled the second front door key off the wall, unlocked the entrance and stumbled out into what was clearly becoming a full blown snow storm.

What was this _idiot_ thinking of, sitting out there like an ice sculpture? Blind rage pushed her forward and she managed to follow along the walls of the house until she reached the corner. Until now, she had enjoyed some cover from the icy wind, but once she rounded it, the full blow of the violent whirls of ice bit into her face and blinded her. "Matthew!" she called, angry and scared in equal measure.

He heard it.

Was it in his head, he wondered, or was she really here? He bolted from the bench, trying to make out anything through the snow. "Mary?" he shouted, feeling foolish for thinking she may actually be here. It was more likely that she was still at the ball, hanging onto Napier's arm.

He had only been vaguely aware of how the snow had become so forceful and now that he moved again, he felt the effects of sitting in the cold for so long. When he'd found the door to the Abbey locked, he saw their bench and it had seemed to make sense that he should sit and wait here until someone came and let him in.

The cold was painful of course, but he'd become so used inhumane temperatures and conditions in the trenches that he barely noticed how he cooled out. Perhaps he should try and walk back to the village. His mother's house would've been the better option. Hopefully, none of the others would attempt to go anywhere in this weather...Mary had better stay were she was. He plonked back down on the bench, his teeth chattering.

"Matthew Crawley, you come to me, _right now_!"

Adrenanaline rushed through his veins at those words, not just because this time he was sure it was in fact Mary...but she was sounding absolutely terrified. He needed to find her.

"Mary! I'm here, stay where you are!" he shouted as loud as his lungs would allow. Somehow, that wasn't very much at all and he felt a strange pain stabbing in his left lung. Without thinking much, he blindly felt his way forward, trying to guess which way her voice had come from.

"Say something, I need to hear your voice." he cried against the wind.

"No, _you_ stay where you are! I'll find _you_!" came her stubborn reply.

Typical, he thought grimly, yet relieved that she sounded much nearer. He could barely feel his face, finding it hard to move any muscle. What _on earth_ had possessed him to sit here and wait outside?

"Mary, just stand where you are now...I'll find you, I'll..." he was shut up, when her body crashed into his, both back to back. They turned quickly and he pulled her into his arms. "Oh for God's sake!" she cried, while he started to laugh, more out of nerves than anything else.

"Come, my darling. We need to get inside." He said hoarsely as he moved with her body pressed into his side. "Wait!" she gasped, pointing one gloved hand to the ground. "If we follow my footsteps, we'll find the way back...but quick, before the storm obliterates them."

Matthew couldn't help but grin and press a quick kiss to Mary's forehead. His clever darling girl. He would never again complain about her pragmatism.

* * *

"I'm afraid, we are quite stuck here in Ripon." said Robert gravely, after a lengthy discussion with Lord Branksome, Lord Cartret and Dr. Clarkson. Cora stared at him horror-struck.

"Whatever is the matter?" she asked. Instead of replying, Robert gave a sign to the orchestra instructor to stop playing. As soon as the music stopped, everyone could hear what was in fact the matter.

A terrible howling wind shook the windows and lattices of the otherwise sturdy village hall.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?" Robert called, sounding serious. "As you can hear, there is a bit of a snow storm raging outside, which will most likely go on for a while. In the interest of your own safety, I would advise you to remain in here with us until the storm subsides. Some guests have already left earlier, and we dearly hope that they will make it home safely. Venturing outside at this point would be insupportable, however. I believe Major Clarkson and the Duke would agree with me." He motioned towards them and they nodded in assent.

Cora cast an anxious look around for her children. Edith was there, with Rosamund. But she could see neither Mary nor Sybil.

"Please...now there is no call for a panic. We shall be quite safe in here. Mr. Godfrey, feel free to play up again." Robert concluded, asking the band for some cheerful music to keep people calm. Evelyn Napier nearly ran into him, looking panicked already. "Have you seen Mary? I can't seem to find her." Robert had the distinct feeling that Napier's concern for Mary was more related to Matthew rather than the snow storm.

Before he could reply, Lady Branksome had come up and pulled her son away, wanting him to remain with her in her state of distress. Most of the young people, however, were little impressed by the weather. Some incorrigable ones even ventured outside, reckless and fuelled by too much liquor.

Finally, Robert had summoned Carson, Thomas and two other footmen to lock and bar the doors. He would not risk anything happening to his guests, not if he could help it. All he could do now would be to sit with his family and hope for the best.

The only problem was that half of his family seemed to have gone missing. "Where are the girls?" he wondered when he found Cora. "Ah, here's Edith!" Cora took his arm and said worriedly. "Robert, Mary and Sybil are not here. We've looked everywhere. And Matthew seems to have disappeared as well."

Robert suspected that Matthew was quite safe. He'd surely walked to Crawley House down the street, where he knew his mother would stay. It was right around the corner and he had left about two hours ago.

But Mary and Sybil had only recently been seen...

Carson pushed his way past the other servants. "Milord, Lady Sybil and...err...Mr. Branson have just arrived." Cora gasped, her eyes wide. "Branson?" Robert asked, "As in our former _chauffeur_ Branson?"

Carson looked highly uncomfortable. "The same one. Oh, here they are." People were making way for the couple, who looked half frozen, stumbling arm in arm towards the fire.

"Sybil!" Cora called, hurrying towards her youngest. "I'm alright, Mama. But it's terrible outside."

Robert tried to stay calm, confused by the way Branson was holding his daughter's arm. Or the reason why he was present at all. He did not remember inviting him.

"What of Mary?" Rosamund demanded, voicing Cora's concerns.

"We brought her home. To Downton." Sybil explained, but Robert was still scrutinizing Branson, not liking the way Sybil said 'we'.

"She just _left_ the ball?" Rosamund wondered in mild indignation.

"Obviously. But was she alone?" Edith huffed, as she pushed in between her aunt and her mother. A valid question in light of Matthew's absence.

"Yes, of course." Branson said, speaking up for the first time. Everyone quickly fell silent, however, when Lady Clarissa Etheridge showed up, mildly distressed.

"Dear Lady, do not excite yourself..." Robert started, holding up a placative hand. The storm seemed to render some women hysterical. "I'm sure we're all safe." he said, his voice rather patronising.

"Oh no, it's something else, Lord Grantham. Miss Swire...I'm afraid, she's rather unwell." Lady Clarissa explained, pointing a gloved finger at a near-by table where Lavinia was being supported by Lady Meredith and Lady Sylvia. "What's wrong with her?" Cora asked anxiously, going over to Matthew's fiancée with Edith in tow, who still felt partly responsible for the messy turn this evening had taken.

"Is she ill?" Robert whispered. "Clarkson mentioned this ghastly Spanish flu the other day..."

Lady Clarissa had the nerve to laugh derisively, holding a gloved hand over her mouth to hide her crooked teeth. "No, it's not the Spanish flu...she's merely...drunk."

Sybil pulled away from Tom to go and fetch a glass of water for the inebriated girl. Luckily, from the look of things, they would be trapped in this hall long enough for poor Miss Swire to sober up...

* * *

**Oh dear...all alone in the Abbey. No good can come of it, or can it? We shall see ;) Thanks for reading, reviewing and bearing with me on this story :) I'll try to update soon!**


	20. Chapter 20

**XX. **

Mary was feeling lightheaded as well. At the same time, she was rather aware of the fact that she and Matthew were all alone at Downton and would most likely remain so a while. The idea made her more nervous that she liked to admit.

Matthew had disappeared downstairs to find some firewood so they could light a fire in the library and Mary briefly considered sneaking upstairs into her room before he returned. After all, she was under no obligation to spend time with him, in particular after everything he had done tonight...

She wished he would look at her when he came back up, but Matthew merely knelt down in front of the fireplace and piled up the logs, his face a grim mask of determination. It was obvious that his mood had changed in the ten minutes of absence. Outside, he had called her 'darling' and kissed her hair...or had he, perhaps she had only imagined it.

It took him a shameful twenty minutes to build and ignite the fire. Mary was tempted to laugh and make a snide remark, if only to relieve the tension, but that surely wouldn't improve his mood, so she held back.

To her indignation, Matthew appeared to be put out with_. _He just remained in front of the roaring fire, with his back turned. "I think you should apologize." The words finally came over her lips, more haughtily than she had intended. It was a difficult habit to break.

This made him rise and turn. "For what?" he asked, clearly annoyed. Mary could see that he was shaking slightly in his wet clothes, completely drenched by the snow. His hair was damp and looked darker than usual in the sparsely lit room. The image of him sitting and freezing alone on the bench came back to haunt her.

"You'll catch your death if you don't change." he commented, waving a hand at her attire.

Mary snorted. "_I_ wasn't the one sitting out in the snow like a fool for God know's how long! Didn't you think of trying the servant's entrance?"

Without replying, Matthew went over to the antique ottoman in the corner and pulled a large blanket off it. "Take off your coat." he ordered, sounding less angry now.

Mary stood. "You take off your coat and go change. What were you thinking, just leaving the ball like this?" She took the offered blanket nevertheless. "Walking all the way here...what a stupid thing to do! You could have been caught in this weather!" She pointed at the windows that were shaken by the harsh wind outside.

Matthew was still miffed, but her little display of care seemed to soften his attitude somewhat. "Never mind that now. Stranger things have happened tonight, I believe." he said pointedly, finally allowing himself to look her in the eye. Mary shivered, instinctively drawing closer to the delicious warmth that seeped from the hearth. "I suppose you're referring to this farce that was played tonight." she huffed.

"It doesn't have to be a farce, if you would only..." he checked himself and she glanced up at him. He seemed to struggle with something and she wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to hear it or not. There had been enough confusion tonight to last a life time. Everything that had been in perfect order for months had gone topsy turvy in the space of one evening.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" she breezed, her eyes narrowing.

"No. I don't think that." Matthew glanced up at the ceiling. Why did she make this so hard? Of course it wasn't too late, not when they could both still go the other way. If they felt the same, there could be nothing wrong about it...

"I see." Mary scoffed and wrapped the blanket even tighter around herself. "And what do you expect us to do now?" She stood and edged closer to him, noting in the back of her mind that he was still trembling from the cold. The sopping hair hung a little in his face. Her hand itched.

"Mary..." he whispered, his own hand reached out for her, but he hesitated. There was something he needed to know before he could go any further. It was a hard question to ask. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

The tension was unnerving to her and she turned away with a mildly exasperated sound. Go to bed, cut him off now, she thought, but her limbs would not obey. She concentrated on the fire for a moment and closed her eyes. In a few days, Matthew would leave her again and go back to fight. He would be gone and probably forget all about her again, as he had surely done for the past two years. Was it worth ruining everything else for one moment of...

"Do you love him?" His voice was thick with the sorrow that accompanied the question.

Mary stared at him and for the first time in over a year, she was wondering the same. Did she love Evelyn? Did she love Matthew? Had she ever loved either of them? Had she ever _allowed_ herself to love one of them, if she did...

"I suppose so." she muttered. It was a vague reply to an earnest question, but it was all she could offer at this point. And the fact that he had asked it so bluntly stirred something else. Anger flashed in her eyes as she faced him properly. What right did he have to _question _her choice?

"It's none of your business, really." she said coldly and saw him flinch. He hadn't moved an inch and his face looked chalky in the sparse light of the room. For a moment she wondered if he might be sick.

"You...suppose." Matthew repeated slowly. He blinked rapidly and a bitter chuckle rang from his chapped lips. "How can you suppose something as fundamental as that? You must _know_. There's no 'suppose' about it!" he said, and she could hear the pain that he tried to keep down.

His speech suddenly brought forth an old memory. A summer day and an argument beneath the fir tree outside. 'Do you love me enough to spend your life with me?'

"And here they say that the war changes people..." Mary said darkly. "It hasn't changed you one bit. I don't know whether to be relieved or aggrieved about it."

"What?" he sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his eyes in a bid to stem his own rising frustration. This was not where he wanted to go with her. Why was it so impossible to have a proper conversation about them, about their relationship, without it ending in a fight?

Mary helplessly thrust her arms out at her sides. "I mean...it's still as simple as that for you...it's still all _black and white_...yes or no. No extenuating circumstances allowed."

He groaned, still hiding his eyes. When they found her again, she glared at him with cold deference.

Matthew opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that in fact a whole lot of things had changed for him to have come to this point, but she gave him no chance.

"Evelyn has been...my friend, my _true_ friend, even when he thought we wouldn't become...more." She deliberated for a moment. Evelyn Napier had supported her and stood by her when rumours of her indiscretion had spread, when her sister had betrayed her to the embassy, when she had felt alone and deserted...but how could she tell Matthew about all of this now?

Maybe this was the right moment to confess about Kemal...and see how he reacts, so she would know whether or not she had been right to keep him in the dark...

"I've been your friend. Always." Matthew countered, clearly confused why this should matter so much in Mary's books. Friendship was friendship...and love was love.

Suddenly, the expression in her dark eyes grew pleading...almost desperate. He stepped closer to her, his hands going out for her once more. What was it that pained her so much?

"You didn't want to stay here. You didn't even want to live here anymore...and you call that being my friend?" she spat. No, she decided, she would not tell him. What good could come of it?

"I told you why I couldn't stay." he whispered, equally shaken by the recollection of that fateful day.

"Well, it didn't make me feel better, imagine that." Her tone turned sarcastic while her face composed itself back into a neutral mask of indifference. "Oh, what's the point in this?" she finally snapped and threw the blanket down on the ottoman. "I'm going to sleep."

Matthew didn't move. "Mary?" Despite her better judgement, she turned back from the doorway. "You used to read greek mythology." he stated. Mary's eyebrow quirked up, unable to ignore the curious urge to stay and hear what would come next.

"Do you believe in fate?" he asked her softly, all traces of anger seemed to have dissipated. When she didn't react, he passed by her without another word. Mary was stunned. Even more so when she saw where he was heading. Without thinking, she followed him through the hidden door in the back wall and into the old gallery.

"Matthew!" she hissed behind him, alarmed on various levels. "Who showed you this room?"

The gallery was steeped in darkness. There had been no electric lights installed here, for lack of usage. Still, Matthew found what he was looking for and extracted the photograph from its glass casing. He ignored Mary's protests. Instead he grasped her cold hand and pulled her back into the decidedly warmer library.

"You can't do that...you can't just steal something from Papa's collection." Mary berated him, nervous as to what he may have discovered in this room, unbeknownst to her. But he wouldn't let her see it.

"What is this?" she asked, her patience wearing thin. He gazed at it and swallowed. "We were friends...even before we met." he mumbled and finally allowed her to grab the photograph out of his fingers. His other hand was still curled around hers. Mary pulled away and held the piece of black and white cardboard towards the fire to study it.

"What am I looking at?" she whispered in confusion. She squinted at the picture, feeling tired and frustrated because she couldn't understand what he was getting at. Merely an old photograph of a family party at Downton.

Matthew's smile was melancholy as he leaned forward and whispered over her shoulder. "You and me...in the last century." He came closer and his arm wrapped around her to point at the little boy and girl who were horsing around, literally, in the foreground of the picture.

Mary blinked and narrowed her eyes. "That's not..." she began, then took a closer look and gasped. Of course that was her, she could see it now. And the boy she was clinging to, her fat little arms around his neck, laughing madly...that blonde red-faced lad with pale eyes was unmistakably Matthew. She didn't know what to say.

"There now...you'd stolen my heart a long long time ago." Mary shivered at his words, whispered so close by, his warm breath on her cold cheek. Without waiting for a reply, Matthew closed both arms around her from behind and she did not protest, too shaken and touched by what she had seen. Tears came to her and she knew then that she could not hold back anymore. The photograph fell from her stiff fingers.

Finally, Mary turned to face him, still encircled in his embrace.

"Oh, Matth..." The whisper died away as she hid her face against his collar, before he could move in to kiss her. Matthew closed his eyes and smiled contentedly. Together, they perched on the seat in front of the fireplace.

"You're shaking..." he observed worriedly.

Matthew put another log into the grate, then watched in fascination as Mary pulled off her sodden coat and shoes. She would have liked to take the wet stockings off her icy feet as well, but it struck her as a little too risqué on a night like this. Her nerves were in tatters already.

Matthew, she noticed, had calmed down considerably. If anything, he looked pleased.

In a bold move, he mirrored her actions and took off his tailcoat and cumberbatch, though he could not hide a blush. In his whole life, he'd never been in such a state of undress with her, or any woman really, and it felt rather intimate. But surely, their togetherness was so natural, so just, that there could be nothing improper in it.

So he picked up the blanket that she had discarded and draped it around her bare shoulders, earning him another smile. Carefully, he pulled Mary into his embrace, and she let it happen all too willingly. For a moment, nothing mattered in the world to her, except to feel Matthew, warm and alive, as his heart beat strongly against to her cheek. She inhaled deeply, relishing his familiar scent.

"I'm so sorry." Matthew finally interrupted their peace. "I didn't think you would care." he mused, still replaying their last argument of 1914. "When I left...I thought you didn't love me, that you were only disappointed about...not getting Downton." It was difficult to say these things, even now.

When she snuggled closer into his chest, he felt encouraged to go on. "Then the war came and it seemed a good idea to leave...I don't know..." there he had to trail off, a shudder running through him at the very thought of the trenches...that he would have to leave her for again, all too soon.

"But it's not too late to remedy all that. We've got a second chance, my darling." he kissed her hair and smiled. Mary was barely listening, his familiar melodic voice was lulling her into a light doze. She only managed a small murmur that he took to be assent...

"We could of course marry in spring, when I'll get my next leave...I hope." Matthew whispered and carefully put his head on Mary's as he watched the crackling fire. The thought of simply leaving her like this when he'd have to go back to fight seemed impossible all of a sudden.

And this time, he wanted..._ needed _to be sure of her...to make it more feasible...more real...

Matthew's arms tightened a little around her body and he licked his lips. Hadn't they already exposed themselves tonight? Would it be so much worse if they simply got married then? There would be a scandal of course, but in these times...did it really matter what people thought?

"Or...we could just go to the register office in Ripon. I've worked with them, they'll help me out with a special permit." He frowned, not entirely convinced that this would work. When she remained quiet, he mulled it over again.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke next. "Or, if you'd rather not deal with our family and...others...we could take the train to Gretna...and we'll just explain it to them later. We could even do it in London or York...you're of age, so..." It was a terribly selfish idea, of course, and he wanted to take it back immediately, especially when he felt her stiffen in his arms.

Through her tired haze, the meaning of Matthew's words had only slowly trickled into Mary's consciousness. "What?" she whispered, lifting her head a little from its place against his chest.

"I know. That's a terrible plan. I'm sorry...of course we need to tell them...we will." he retracted quickly. He knew Mary long and well enough to see when she was getting enraged and he mentally slapped himself for voicing his thoughts. "Are you actually suggesting we just run off and get married?" Mary sat up to regard him properly.

"Matthew, we're not even free to be together, never mind getting engaged!" She didn't mean to sound harsh, but the full weight of his proposal suddenly made her see red. Before he could say anything else, she had pushed him away and got up.

Matthew watched her pace in front of the fire like an angry cat and his own frustration grew. "If this is about _propriety,_ I think we have crossed that border already a few times this evening!" he remarked, glaring at her. He couldn't believe she was doing it again, pushing him away, pushing against what felt so right and proper. And for what? Appearances.

"WE? Did you just say_ we_ crossed that border? You have behaved like this, not me! I didn't ask for any of it, if you recall." Mary reminded him cuttingly, though she was aware of her own hypocrisy. No, she may not have asked for it out loud, but she had unmistakably enjoyed it when he'd 'crossed that border' as he called it.

"I told you I'm sorry about that. What else can I do? And I don't regret it, you know!" he countered heatedly. As he tried to get up, a wave of dizziness suddenly arrested him. He took a deep breath, then slowly stood.

"Mary, look at me, please." he plead, stepping towards her. She finally stopped pacing and fixed him with a cold glare.

"I love you...so terribly much."

Mary's heart took a tumble at those words. "That doesn't make it right." she said archly, still in shock. The words kept resonating in her mind, but she forced herself to focus. She couldn't let herself get carried away by his confession. It was too much to take in, not to mention far too late.

Not now, not here, not when everything was meant to be...different. He'd said he'd loved her before and then he'd left. No, saying these words did not make it right at all.

Matthew's face fell before her eyes. She knew that he'd hoped to hear her say something else entirely, but she would not indulge him in this. They had to be sensible...at least until she had figured out how to trust his words again...and how to get everything else settled properly.

"Is it because of him?" he accused after a tense minute, his dejection swinging back into anger. "Because he doesn't love you, you know. Not like this..." Matthew shook his head. "He's not a bad person, I give him that. But he's just like any other man you've met in...in your waiting room!"

Mary frowned, confused and furious in equal measure. "What?"

"I mean...he doesn't even know you. He sees your beautiful face and perhaps he's flirted with you...althought you didn't seem particularly taken with him in 1912, if I remember correctly..."

"That's not what..." she meant to interrupt him, but he was faster. "The point is, he only knows that lovely facade of yours, the one that you show off when you're trying to please. Have you...have you even argued with him, once?"

Mary was rendered speechless. The truth was that she had never argued with Evelyn. Not once.

"If I haven't argued with him, that's only because we get on so well. And that's why I _wanted_ to marry him." She pressed out at last, convinced of her own reasoning. To her chagrin, Matthew smiled.

"And you think you'll be happy like that? Always keeping it in? I know what disposition you have, my darling." he chuckled ruefully. "I know it, because I had to deal with it from the first moment I met you. And I've loved you for it, not despite of it. But he...he doesn't even know how harsh you can be...and how passionate. He wants a wife who is like him...but you are not like him, Mary."

Again, she was struck dumb by his arguments. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew that he was right, every bit of it. But even if Evelyn was not the right choice for her...that didn't make Matthew so.

"Then what makes you so different?" she snapped, glancing down at her twisting fingers. "Everything." he replied without missing a beat. "I know you better than you know yourself sometimes..." he chuckled darkly. Mary didn't think there was anything funny in it.

"And I should have trusted you...back when I didn't..." he concluded more soberly. "I did not trust that you loved me for myself, Mary. It was never for lack of loving you." The topic of their great blunder of 1914 made them both tense.

"You really expect me to believe that...when your fiancée is sleeping two rooms down the hall from mine? I can hear her snoring at night! Did you know that?" Mary burst out, feeling that if everything else was slipping out of control, she might as well go with it.

Matthew shook his head vehemently. "I hardly knew Lavinia when I asked her...and you must know that I don't love her. I never have...not like you." he told her earnestly. He sounded so sincere and yet she was not to be appeased.

Every ounce of heart ache and every disappointed hope that she had to swallow and keep down for the past three years came forth like the eruption of a long dormant volcano.

"Do you know what I think this is all about?" she spat, tears prickling in her eyes. Matthew shook his head and held his breath. "It's as if you were _him._.." She threw out her hand towards the gallery door. He looked at it dumbly for a second, not understanding at all.

"...that little boy in the photograph!" she specified. "As if you were ten years old again, and you come home to find another boy is playing with your favourite toy, and you can't have it back, even though you didn't want it anymore before you left! Now it's gone and you start kicking and screaming in hopes of getting it back. _That_'s what I think!" Her rant left her short of breath but she still managed to look at him with cold triumph.

Matthew looked as if she had slapped him. Was this really what she thought of him, how she perceived his love? Had she listened to anything he had told her tonight? He was starting to feel dizzy again and somehow it became harder to breathe. Perhaps he really ought to call it a night. Still, he needed to make some things clear...

"First off, you're completely wrong with your idiotic assumption." he bit out. "That said...you _do_ make an interesting point there, only that you should probably ascribing these sentiments to yourself instead!"

Mary was nearly apoplectic with rage, knowing that he was referring to her behaviour towards him in, another jibe at her fickleness. Her lips were pressed together, but the accusation was written plainly in her dark eyes.

No, she would not stoop to this, not again. Let him rage, she told herself. Tomorrow, the world would be back in order. If only the others were back yet. She flicked a desperate glance at the darkened windows behind them, all of which were nearly halfway covered by snow. And the howling of the storm had not abated in the slightest.

Matthew was breathing heavily. He felt defeated and sick. There was no getting through to her. At the front, hundreds of men would listen to him, heed his orders, but with Mary, he was utterly and pathetically helpless. She only mocked his sentiments, twisted his words...

He laughed hollowly. "What's so funny?" she hissed, her fingers fidling at her neck, missing the necklace she would usually wear. "It's just...what you said there...you are perfectly right. I _am_ still that boy. And _you_ are that girl. It's the roles we have played with each other ever since." he muttered and shook his head.

"How so?" She was exasperated, even more so when she saw he was still mildly amused.

"I'm still your horse...or something else you play around with for your entertainment. You know, I'd do almost anything you ask of me. Sometimes I don't even notice what I'm doing, until you've dropped me again and then I feel like the fool that I am..." he trailed off, the smirk had disappeared off his face.

Mary blanched as well, unconsciously moving into his direction.

"And you know I'm so in love with you that I've allowed it...once again." He paused, as if something had just occured to him. "But...that's why you won't have me, isn't it?"

Hearing these words pained her more than any of the spiteful arguments he had thrown at her all night. "That's not true." she whispered as she edged nearer, willing him to look at her now.

Matthew gazed at the dying embers in the grate and he realized that he'd been mistaken. Until now, he'd been comvinced that he knew Mary inside and out, but the truth was that he didn't know what was in her heart at all. In 1914, he'd believed that there was nothing for him, tonight he had thought there might be something. And now he only knew what he wished would be there...

It took her three strides to stand close to him, and he shuddered at her presence. When he felt her soft cool fingers tracing over his cheek, he closed his eyes briefly and stilled. "It's not true." she repeated softly and without thinking she pulled his cheek down to her lips.

Matthew remained still. He could tell that she felt for him, that she cared, but it was a weak exchange for what he wanted from her. In the end, it wasn't her sympathy that he craved...

Soon, however, the delicious feel of her soft lips on his chin effectively ousted these thoughts and Matthew found himself grasping once again for the tiniest marker of her affection. With trembling hands, he pulled Mary's warm body fully against his. They embraced tightly for a moment, relishing the simple act of holding what they loved most in this world.

"Can I kiss you...because I really need to." he whispered into her ear, taking her by surprise. All evening he had kissed her without asking for permission, when in fact it was a valid question, because it _was_ up to her. Her choice. Mary knew this was the moment of truth. She could either tell him no and put an end to this madness...or...

"Yes." She smiled up at him, delighted to find his saddened blue eyes light up at once.

As his lips captured hers, Mary's hands automatically came up to caress his burning cheeks, his ears...and rake her fingers through his hair. It was still moist.

With her permission, Matthew eagerly deepened their kiss. Together, they stumbled backwards until Mary's legs hit the edge of the red couch and she let herself fall, pulling him down with her...

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**A/N: Getting there ;) Thank you guys so much for all the wonderful reviews, so glad you enjoy! Next chapter, the rating will go up a notch (as you could probably predict from the way this ended :) Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! **


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: So sorry for the wait guys! Long chapter. There's also a longish Author's note at the end of this to explain a few things..but for now, enjoy :) **

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**XXI.**

Mary could hear her own sighs turning into gasps, then into moans as they moved against each other. She was pushed up into the large cushions with Matthew's heavy body covering hers almost entirely. They were still fully clothed, though most of her beautiful evening gown was crushed and crumpled by now. The hem had magically ridden up to her knees, though she knew Matthew was gentleman enough to leave it there, at least until she told him otherwise. His breath was coming in short ragged bursts as his lips kept devouring the skin of her neck and cleavage. With every gentle nip of his mouth, Mary could feel her mind shutting down a bit further.

The fire in the grate had gone out completely, though neither of them noticed. Mary ran her stocking-clad feet up and down the length of Matthew's legs, relishing the ripple of muscles underneath the formal black trousers. Her hands were alternately clenched in his hair or clutching at his back to pull him closer.

She noticed with some amusement that Matthew was always careful to shift his groin a little away from her body, so she wouldn't get a fright. The idea that he wanted to protect her innocence, so to speak, touched her so much that she kept trying to do the opposite. Mary wanted to touch him, to feel him come alive in her hands. Matthew was right, she decided, they had already moved past propriety long ago.

"Matthew." she whimpered as he grazed her earlobe, sucking it gently into his mouth. "Hmm?" he hadn't been able to form a coherent sentence for the past twenty minutes. Mary found it equally hard to speak, opting instead for a more feasible form of communication. They quickly sought each other's mouths again with even more passion, kissing deeply, longingly.

Their love felt intense, and yet so natural. So right. So necessary, like the air to breathe...

Mary moaned quietly as Matthew let his lips slide down the length of her neck, inhaling that intoxicating scent until it made him tremble. Control, he thought desperately, feeling it slip out of his grasp with every little sound that Mary uttered, every little movement she made under him, every bit of her that he got to taste or smell or feel.

He feasted on her lips and with some trepidation Matthew finally dared to invade her sweet mouth with his tongue. And there he felt it, Mary's tongue caressing his, teasing him, loving him back...

"_God!_"

Matthew yelped, then whimpered helplessly when he felt Mary's hand brush up against his arousal. His eyes briefly rolled back and he let his head fall onto her shoulder. Mary smiled, more than satisfied with the effect her ministrations had on him. Soon, however, he grabbed her hand and stilled her movements. She frowned.

"God...Mary." Matthew breathed heavily, dragging his eyes open to look down at her. His blonde hair, quite dishevelled now, flopped into his eyes. Mary gently brushed it away with her free hand. "Don't you like..." she whispered. A shaky laugh escaped him and when she looked into his hooded eyes, she knew it was a silly question.

"Mary." It seemed all he was capable of saying. The last thing Matthew wanted was for her to stop, but he was also afraid of going to fast...or too far. He'd tried not to let her notice his arousal when they were kissing, but he could feel all remnants of restraint slipping away by the second. And he would never have imagined Mary being so bold as to...touch him _there_.

"Are you afraid?" Mary wondered, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his open mouth. Matthew chuckled weakly. "Aren't you?" He whispered into her kiss. "Not with you." she said, shaking her head. Matthew blinked and tried to catch his breath, his chest swelled with pride. Mary trusted him, and yet he was terrified of disappointing her...

Neverminding Matthew's earlier misgivings, Mary reached both hands down to the opening of his mess kit trousers. There was no belt, but a contraption of buttons that she struggled with. A frustrated mewl came over her lips that tore at Matthew's heart and fuelled his desire to the point where he finally threw all caution to the wind. Gently stilling her efforts, he opened the buttons himself, then held her hand in his for a moment.

His eyes found hers. "I love you." he whispered earnestly. Mary knew that she loved him, too, with all her heart. But the words wouldn't reach her lips. Instead, she tried to show him, by kissing him fiercely, while she pulled her hand free of his hold to slide it down his belly until she found...

Matthew pressed his face into her neck to stifle the raw guttural sounds that tore from his mouth. Mary's hand was on his painful arousal...

...the same hand that he had held and kissed with innocent reverence, the hand that had given him her good luck charm...

...the hand that he wanted to endow with a ring and all he had to give...

Mary's touch melted his sanity and all too soon he felt his body giving way. If he so much as glimpsed at her now, he would be lost. His arms were shaking around Mary's soft frame, holding her close to his chest.

She tried to stifle her moans when she felt Matthew's warm hand cupping her breast and watched in fascination as he licked his lips, then greedily closed them around the firm tip, sucking it into his mouth through the thin silk of her dress. Mary arched her back up with a loud groan and her fingers flexed repeatedly around his aching flesh...

Matthew's world exploded. His hips bucked uncontrollably as he throbbed in her hand and a strangled cry of ecstasy ripped out of him, shattering the silence of the deserted house...

Tears came to Mary's eyes at the sight of his release. He was so beautiful in that moment, raw and uninhibited. She watched in awe as he shuddered on top of her for nearly half a minute, until he calmed and slumped down onto her chest. Mary let go of his spent manhood. She stroked his hair and shoulders in soothing circles now.

And then she noticed that something was not quite right.

Mary wasn't sure, but she thought she could hear him sob quietly into her neck. She continued her soothing, but he seemed to grow more agitated in turn. Matthew held her so tightly against him that it became mildly uncomfortable.

The air had become ice cold around them and she felt him shiver. There was a wet spot on the fabric covering her right breast where he had laved it with his tongue and it felt almost painful in the cold draft of the room. Suddenly, she remembered that there was a storm raging outside. The howling of the wind appeared to ebb, though it still drowned out the surpressed sobs of the man in her arms. Mary was at a loss.

Had she done something wrong? Or did he regret what they had done...because of Lavinia?

"Matthew?" she finally broke the silence and turned her head to where he had buried his against her. One of the hair pins in the disarray that had once been an elaborate hairstyle pricked her and she winced slightly. At long last, Matthew resurfaced. She had not been mistaken. There were traced of tears...

"What is it, my darling?" Mary whispered.

He laughed quietly and his voice sounded rough. With one hand, he quickly wiped his eyes and she saw his cheeks and ears redden with mortification. "I'm sorry...so sorry." Matthew croaked and shook his head. "Why?" she gasped and he could see her consternation growing. He had to explain himself.

"First of all..." he laughed again, though it sounded wry. "I don't believe it's supposed to...end so abruptly. I'm sorry. What a disappointment I am." his smile turned grim.

Mary made him look up at her. "You're not a disappointment. On the contrary." she assured him and he could tell that she truly meant it. That seemed to cheer him up immensely. But Mary sensed that there must be more...

"Tell me what's wrong." she prompted, stroking her thumb over his cheek. "I'm not sure how to...explain this..." he blinked upwards for a moment, trying to gather his jumbled thoughts. "I've never felt like this...and I never thought I would get to feel like this." Mary nodded slowly, though she did not quite understand why he would think so or why it should upset him...

"I'd wanted you for so long...you can't imagine." He chuckled a little. "I want you too." Mary whispered, not sure why she suddenly had to say it. She blushed. Matthew's lips quirked.

"See...I've imagined you saying that in all my dreams. But to actually have you in my arms..." he trailed off and his expression darkened. He hesitated, then licked his lips and forced himself to speak...

"In...the trenches, there's not much time to dream of anything like this...it's too bleak...too cold..." his voice shook slightly and Mary slowly began to comprehend. Matthew never talked of the trenches.

Never.

She held her breath and watched his face turn pale as he struggled with his memories.

"Sometimes...it makes you feel dead. As if you were dead...inside."

Matthew shuddered, but he tried to go on. "And you never want to feel anything...because it's all too much. So you teach yourself not to feel anymore...and you become sort of...numb...as if you were...dead."

There was a long pause and his eyes dropped back down to the face he loved most in the world. She didn't look horrified, as he had feared. She was silent, but neither from shock nor disgust.

He could feel it more than he could see it. Her understanding and...her love. Mary's fingers kept caressing his face.

Steadily. Bravely.

"I didn't believe I could feel alive again...the only thing that kept me alive was you, I think." He admitted, smiling a little when he thought of the lucky charm she had given him one misty morning in 1916. It was in his coat pocket even now.

"But when you touched me...I felt...so much...and..." Mary saw him struggling again and she quickly pulled him down for a long kiss. "Yes." she only said. "Yes."

It was as simple as that.

"You make me feel alive." he whispered against the corner of her mouth. To Mary, this was the most genuine declaration of love that anyone had ever received. "Yes." she repeated, almost inaudibly. It was the answer to a question she had yearned to give him three years ago and she wondered if he perceived it as that.

_Do you love me enough to spend your life with me? _

She did...if only she could. Loving each other was one thing. Marriage was a different animal altogether. At least amongst their people. So many questions remained, there was still so much else to consider.

And plain fact was that they were still engaged to be married to others...

In this blissful moment, however, Mary did not want to disturb his peace. He looked so happy as she watched him turn his head slightly aside to kiss the hand that cupped his cheek. No, she would not make him uneasy now. He deserved some peace and happiness. At least for a while. They would talk later...

Matthew's words about the war and life in the trenches kept haunting her mind. She glared up at the dark high panelled ceiling above them and her fingers tenderly raked though his hair as he dozed on top of her, his face buried against her neck.

_Bleak. Cold. Numb. Dead...dead...inside. _

Mary shuddered and clutched him tighter. Matthew...what was this war doing to him? And soon he would have to go back to all that. If only she could keep him here, safe in her arms.

In reality, however, she would probably never be allowed to hold him or kiss him again...

They had both betrayed their fiancés, there was no denying it and no justification. Evelyn didn't deserve this. Nor did Lavinia, even if she wasn't worthy of Matthew...

Then again, who was she to judge anyone? As 'tainted goods' she was hardly worthy of Matthew's adoration either.

Kemal Pamuk had touched her long before Matthew and taught her how to touch in return. He had robbed her of more than one kind of 'innocence'. Due to him she had seen the face of death...she had lied and deceived the people she loved...and pulled her maid and her mother into this whole mess...

Evelyn had been so good about these rumours. He had dismissed them as merely a malicious story concocted by her fanciful sister to ruin her. The ambassador had quickly been forced into silence and Mary's reputation was saved from further damage. Sometimes, however, Mary thought that Evelyn knew more than he led on...

And despite all this her story was still somewhere out there. And would always be.

If either Evelyn or Matthew ever found out the truth, they would despise her, of that she was sure. Mary knew that she could bear to see Evelyn turn away in disgust...but not Matthew.

_Not Matthew. _

Of course she owed him the truth, if they were to build a life together. She could not keep him in the dark forever, as tempting as the idea was...

His gentle snores tickled the damp skin of her neck as she idly traced her fingers along the shell of his ear. She would love Matthew until the day she died, but she would have to marry another.

Evelyn was her equal in many ways. He was not unlike Matthew. Inherently good, decent and loyal to a fault. The best thing that could have happened to her given the circumstances. And yet...

Was it fair on him to enter into this marriage under false pretenses? Evelyn was certain that she had developed deeper feelings for him over the years, even if she hadn't shown much interest in 1913.

And he was right, she did love him...to a certain extend...if 'love' entailed a deep admiration and respect for someone, a feeling comfort and security when you were with them.

Only...if this was love...then what did it mean to feel as if someone is so much a part of you that you feel like half of yourself is missing when they are not with you?

What does it mean to wish you could crawl under someone's skin and remain there forever?

What does it mean to want someone so badly that you could scream and cry with desire and longing for them?

And what does it mean when you are so terrified of disappointing someone with the truth of your past that you'd rather watch them leave than see the look of disdain on their face...

At the sound of her quiet weeping, Matthew stirred. "Darling..." he rasped, dragging his lips from her neck up to her cheek. "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. Then he seemed to realize something.

"God...I'm crushing you. I'm so sorry." Still groggy from his short nap, Matthew pulled himself up to shift his weight off her body. Mary said nothing and made quick work of composing herself.

They both sat up and Matthew discretely tucked himself back into his trousers, grinning at her shily from aside. But Mary didn't look amused at all. A sense of cold dread settled over him. He knew that expression all too well.

"Did I do badly?" He forced himself to remain calm. Suddenly, he remembered all the things he had said, the things he had confessed about the war. What did she think of him now? Perhaps she thought he was being melodramatic or silly. Or even mad?

"No, you did nothing wrong. Not at all. But...it's enough now." She whispered weakly, taking several deep breaths to gather her wits. She hated herself for doing this, but there was no alternative. For both of them. Matthew was as honour bound to Lavinia as she was bound by her own network of lies.

Matthew laid his arm around her and pressed his lips to her temple, evidently relieved that he had not messed up. Mary closed her eyes, then forced herself to look at him. Otherwise he would not understand. "As wonderful as this is...us...together...we have to be reasonable." she began, cursing the way her voice shook. However, she was finding him quite in agreement. "I know. We ought to control ourselves until everything is properly resolved...as hard as it is." he chuckled.

"But how can we do this 'properly', Matthew? How can we get out of our promises without creating a scandal?" She said calmly and with as much decisiveness as she could muster. "I can't...we can't do this to them. We have a duty to other people...and unless _they _decide to release us, I'm afraid there is no solution..."

Matthew felt as if someone had just emptied a bucketful of icy water over his head. "Don't." he hissed.

"And what of Lavinia? You are bound to her, you know that well enough...and I can't just go and 'sack' Evelyn...he's done nothing wrong. He doesn't deserve to be treated thus!" She tried to rise from the couch, but he held her. "Not so fast." He said, his voice hard.

"Do you love me?"

After the way they had been together only moments ago, Matthew couldn't believe she would even suggest that it meant nothing, that they ought to return to their fiancées.

Unthinkable. Unacceptable. "Do you _love_ me?" he repeated, an edge of despair to his tone now. Though he dreaded her answer, he needed to know, once and for all.

Mary pressed her lips tightly together. He wouldn't understand if she told him the truth. But she couldn't let him believe that she didn't love him either. There was no solution, to anything! It was maddening...

"Answer me, Mary." he urged. It could not be...it simply could not be that she would do this to him again. His mind refused to accept it.

Mary shook her head, avoiding his gaze. The gesture was meant as a decline to his request. She couldn't answer him on this, not truthfully at least. "I don't want to talk about this. Not with you. Please, let's just..."

The hurt in Matthew's eyes was evident. All these years, he had wondered if he had not been too hasty to dismiss Mary's feelings. Now he knew better. Mary wanted him, perhaps she loved him...just not enough. Never enough.

"So...it's him you choose...after everything?" Matthew concluded darkly, finally letting go of her. She jumped to her feet and went to retrieve her shoes, unwilling to continue this conversation. He was pushing needles into her, forcing her to push knives into him. They couldn't be reasonable like this.

"I said that I don't want to talk about this with you. You wouldn't understand." she repeated stubbornly. Perhaps after a good night's sleep, when she could think more clearly...

Matthew didn't know what to do anymore. There was no possibility of changing Mary's heart, if this is how she truly felt...

The clock on the mantlepiece struck three. Both stood facing each other, shivering in the cold. Mary watched him warily for a few minutes. His jaw was set and his eyes were fixed on the persian rug underneath their feet. She wanted to tell him the truth, tell him what he needed to hear...

But she could not. Not this time. Giving herself a hard push, Mary turned to go upstairs at last.

"I think you're being a fool." he called after her.

_Just go, don't even listen, just go upstairs_, she admonished herself to no avail.

"What?"

"This may be our last chance at happiness, Mary." he said. "Why can't you just accept it? Are you too proud to take what's right in front of you or am I still not up to scratch?" Matthew was breathing hard. "You...you almost _laid_ with me...we were close to..." He waved a hand at the place where she had touched him so intimately...

The memory of it made him nauseaus now.

"Oh Matthew, grow up. You have no idea what I..." Mary shrank back from what she had almost revealed. It was on the tip of her tongue, but no. He mustn't know...he mustn't compare it with the Turk. There was absolutely no comparison between the two men or the two encounters.

One had felt so wrong, and the other so right, so very right...

Matthew nodded grimly. She was right, he _had_ no idea. He had been merely a boy who went to pieces in her arms, without restraint or control. Mary had played with him, as was her custom and he had greedily taken whatever she had been willing to give. He was the fool here. And and it was the end of the line.

"You broke my heart, you know." he informed her quietly. She ought to know as much.

Mary glared at him. Her nerves were in shreds as it was and to hear him talk so made her furious.

"I dare say you'll survive it. Nobody's died of a broken heart yet." Otherwise, she would certainly have perished of said condition a while ago. And of course he still had Miss Swire to console him...

Her coolness cut him more than her words. Adrenaline flooded his body and his chest felt cramped again. He tried to take a deep breath, but it was difficult.

"And I dare say you don't even know what a broken heart feels like...you'd need to own one in the first place." he countered harshly, pacing towards the window, then back again. The room was starting to feel claustrophobic and the cold air stung in his lungs.

"Oh, bravo. How very poetic. You should write verses." Mary mocked him, even as her heart clenched painfully. It hurt. Everything hurt. If only the others came home and put and end to this. Surely Miss Swire would remind him of his duties...and Evelyn would look right through her. He'd already been suspicious at the ball...

"Just...stop being like this, for one moment, I beg you!" Matthew plead, trying to focus on what he really wanted to say. He knew that Mary was still full of resentment for his deserting her. It was quite plain to see, all the hurt she had dragged around for years, just like him. He wished to make her forget all of that, if only she'd let him...

"Alright. Let's stop this nonesense." Mary relented. "Regardless of what happened tonight...I will have to marry my fiancé. Please, don't ask about my reasons...you won't be happy about them." She raised a hand to stop his protest when he opened his mouth. "I think we must both be brave and accept that this is the end." She could not bring herself to meet his gaze as she said it.

"And I'm sure you will find happiness with someone else..someone who isn't..."

Matthew had turned pale. Part of him had anticipated Mary's final choice, but it was agonizing to hear her speak of his own feelings as if it were that simple. "I won't marry." he muttered. "But if you marry him...I'll never forgive you." he spat at last. It was too difficult to repress his anger when everything else fell apart.

"And don't expect me to wish you well... because it would be futile." He covered his mouth for an instant. "There is no greater pain than regret, Mary, trust me. He won't love you like you deserve and you'll come to hate him for that." Matthew snarled at last.

It was almost as if he observed himself from above, as if his soul had left his body, watching it say these vicious things to the one person he never wanted to hurt...

Mary couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She had never heard him speak so cruelly before, she hadn't thought him capable of it. This was not _her_ Matthew, not her sweet, bumbling, shy, kind-hearted Matthew, who had proposed to her over a plate of cucumber sandwiches. This was some mean, resentful shadow of him.

"Fine then. Do you suppose I care what you think?" she hissed, like an angry kitten, who had been kicked.

"No. But you will care one day, when you feel miserable and unloved, you'll think of me and how I would have given everything to make you happy!"

"Oh, I see. Just because you don't get your will, you'd have me cursed and doomed to an unhappy life?"

"Perhaps." he bit out, trying to reign in his fury. He was hurting himself as much as her by saying these things.

Mary nodded bitterly. "Perhaps you should not come back here then. You won't have to witness my 'misery' if it's so distasteful to you." Mary declared in her haughtiest demeanour. Matthew gaped at her horror-struck.

"We did manage to stay out of each other's lives for three years. Let's get back to that." she said, more forcefully.

The air around them had turned so cold that her breath clouded in the room. He still only stared at her, willing Mary to take back her last request. For the life of him, he couldn't comprehend how they had gone from blissful love making to this nightmare...

"Please..." Mary said wearily, her knees were threatening to collapse. She was so tired, it was so difficult to think properly, let alone argue. "...just go and don't come back." Her tears turned cool against the skin of her cheeks. She had spoken quietly, yet the poignancy of her words did not miss its intended mark.

Outside, the snow storm had abated, as the night came to its darkest point. Matthew was still regarding her with silent terror, unmoving and pale to the tip of his nose. Somehow, she thought, he looked as if he had aged a couple of years in the past few minutes. His eyes most of all.

"As you wish." Matthew finally uttered in an unnatural, mechanical voice.

At long last, the roaring of two motors became audible, followed by the sounds of wheels creaking to a halt in the thick snow and car doors opening and slamming. Familiar voices crept closer...

Without another word, Mary bolted for the hallway and hurried upstairs, leaving Matthew to fend for himself in the early darkness of the new day.

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**A/N: I know! If you find this story too frustrating or snail-paced, I'd totally understand if you jump ship. But you see I have this whole thing planned out already and if you bear with me, there'll be a fantastically happy ending, I promise! Because M/M deserve one, no matter in which universe.**

**Now, there have been a few questions about why they are still fighting and not getting their act together. Here it is. Mary seems frustrating in this, but really if you think about her position and even how it has been in canon, she has no other choice. There's an obligation to Evelyn who hushed up her scandal, but other than Carlisle in canon, he's a thoroughly good guy. If he'd blackmailed or threatened her like Sir Richard, Mary would have much less scruples in throwing him over. And more than anything, she is terrified of telling Matthew about Pamuk, which was the same in canon. She only told him in the end because a) she was sure they'd never be together and b) he basically pulled it out of her. In canon, Mary would most likely have married Richard for the sake of keeping the scandal under wraps if Robert had not intevened and told her to hell with it. So Mary _does_ make sacrifices for her family and the honour of Downton. In canon and in here.**

**As for poor Matthew. He is a lot more affected by the war in this story than in canon where it was imo totally neglected (two tiny references in all of S3!). But it is exactly because of the way the war has changed him that he decides to break it off with Lavinia. 'war has a way of distinguinshing between the things that matter and the things that don't' – such an important quote. Honour and the rules of society are nothing when it comes down to the basic instincts of keeping alive and coming home to the one you love. And this is what Matthew has learned in this AU at least...**

**So apologies for the renewed angst, but we're getting to the good times soon ;) Thank you all so much for reading and the amazing reviews! You guys really help to write this story and I can't thank you enough!**

**Next chapter: Someone's** **leaving...and someone else simply refuses to leave**.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Shorter chapter, speedy update :) Thanks as always for the reviews, guys, especially the critical ones, because I'm glad to know what you really think. See, I knew a lot of people will tire of the 'dragging', so I added the author's note to explain it at least. Now I feel as 'evil' as JF himself, in dragging everyone through angst and pain until we got the proposal in the snow at last :) But seriously, I am sorry! As I said in the last A/N I totally understand if you are fed up with the story, though I'm very sad to lose readers :( For those who are still interested, however, the pace will pick up now that all the 'talking' is done. It's different from 'Baby Fever', but more fluff is about to come, trust me. There will also be more action from here on out, as Mary's beginning to realize what she may be about to lose for the second time...**

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**XXII.**

After four hours of seemingly endless waiting, Tom Branson had managed to convince Lord Grantham that it was now safe for them to brave the track home, albeit at snail pace, for the streets were dangerously slippery at best, and impassable at worst.

Some of their guests had found rooms in hotels and inns for the night, others had ventured out to their houses close by, and yet others were invited to stay at Downton until they were fit for a longer journey.

Branson had also organized for a second car to bring a handful of the servants home, like Mr. Bates and Carson, who were not well on foot, in particular after indulging in a selection of refreshments at the ball.

Cora sat squeezed between Robert and a sleeping Sybil, while Edith and Rosamund sat across, trying in vain to hold Lavinia upright, whose head collapsed onto her chest ever so often. Cora wrung her hands when Downton came into sight. She had a strange feeling that something bad had occured in their absence. Perhaps it was for the better that Mr. Napier had insisted on delivering his family safe home before he would rejoin their party. A perfect opportunity to have a little word with Mary...

The family waited for the staff to exit the first car. "We ought to wait here, until they've lit the fires." Rosamund ordered wisely.

Inside, Carson had to stifle a startled noise when he found a man sitting alone in the cold library, his head buried in his hands. Matthew did not look up, and Carson did not dare disturb him. Instead, he turned towards the hearth and was surprised to find that someone had already built a make-shift fire before, but it had gone out. He stared at Matthew again, who was still hiding his face, unmoving like a statue.

The other staff had gone upstairs to ready the bedrooms. The Granthams and their guests followed suit. None of them even considered entering the library. Anna and Ethel helped to carry a half-asleep Lavinia upstairs. Cora and the girls hurried behind, more than eager for their beds.

Lord Grantham had just reached the third step of the stairs when Carson came up behind him, quiet concern edged on his face. "Milord. I don't know if you are aware of Captain Crawley sitting in the library." Robert looked aghast. "Matthew? How in heaven's name did he get here?"

Upon hearing Robert's voice, Matthew was finally roused from his brooding.

"Good God, Matthew. What are you doing here, all alone in the cold? How did you make it home in this weather? I thought you'd gone to Crawley House..." Robert said, walking towards his heir, until he saw the younger man's face, which made him stop dead in his tracks.

"What happened?" he asked warily, although the pieces quickly fell into place, considering that Mary was upstairs.

"I walked. Just before the storm hit." Matthew replied dully, chosing to ignore Robert's last inquiry.

"Bad news, actually." he went on, trying to sound casual. "I've had a call...a late night call. I'm due back at the front as soon as possible. So I'm afraid I must leave you all this instant." Matthew lied without shame. Resolve did away with scruples. He couldn't possibly stay.

It was an unlikely tale, but not unheard of. Robert eyed him suspiciously. "Blimey. It must be urgent, if they call you in the middle of the night."

Matthew shrugged. "Indeed." he said distractedly, evading his interrogator's intent stare. "If you'll excuse me, I must pack. Please make my excuses to Lady Grantham and...the family."

Giving Robert no chance to react or intervene, Matthew had burst from the room and taken the stairs two at a time. Instead of packing, however, he sat down at a desk in his room and pulled a sheet of paper towards him. He scribbled away for nearly an hour, then put the three letters into separate envelopes and sealed them.

The sun was slowly rising over the snowy grounds of Downton and the entire house was steeped in silence. Everyone was asleep, even the servants who had made it home at the latest. They would not be expected to rise as early as usual today.

Back in his uniform, his case packed, Matthew put the three letters on the desk, where they would be clearly visible for a maid or a footman to pick up and post.

He grudgingly pulled something out of the pocket of his coat and held it in his fist. It was the little stuffed toy dog Mary had given him the last time he had been up here to introduce Lavinia to Mother. Very gently, Matthew laid the small fellow down on one of the three letters.

_You must bring it back without a scratch,_ Mary had warned him. Since she didn't want to see him again, he had better give it back to her now. Nevertheless, Matthew needed to take something of hers with him and he already knew where to procure it...

Very quietly, so as not to wake a soul, Matthew stole down to the library and into the gallery. Scanning all the glass cases he found what he'd been looking for. A relatively recent photograph of Mary, taken in London one or two seasons ago. She was wearing a dark lace dress and had just changed her hairstyle, which was probably why she felt the need for a new picture.

Carefully, he opened the case, took out the photograph and stared at it for a moment. Mary's lovely face, frozen in sepia. He deftly opened the front of his army jacket and placed the picture inside the breastpocket of his green shirt.

It wasn't exactly theft, he told himself, no one else seemed to care for it, so they could bloody well spare it. Now it was his, he thought with grim satisfaction as he buttoned up his jacket.

The cold outside made him shiver violently and it was then that he caught sight of Tom Branson talking to someone next to the Grantham's car. Apparently not everyone had gone to bed yet. Matthew took out his father's pocket watch. Nearly half past five. If he took the car, he may be able to catch the train at six.

"Cousin Matthew!" a familiar voice called. For one wild moment, he thought it was Mary, and then he realized who Branson was talking to. Sybil. Matthew gave a stiff nod, feeling caught. Best to ignore her and simply ask for the car.

"Branson, I know you don't work here anymore, but would you be so kind as to drive me to the station? I really must catch the six o'clock train."

The young journalist looked confused, then nodded. "Sure. It's not my car...other than that I don't mind..." He wasn't a servant anymore, but Matthew Crawley struck him like a friend in need, so he wasted no time in helping him.

"What? Where are you going?" Sybil intervened, frowning.

"Back to France. I'm sorry. I can't tell you more." Matthew muttered, pointedly avoiding the sight of Mary's sister as he settled into the back of the car. Unfortunately, Sybil would not be shaken off that easily and made to climb in after him.

"No!" His tone was clipped and he shut the door right in her face. "Please, Sybil." he said more gently then. Sybil's worry increased. Something bad happened and she had to ask.

"Does Mary know?"

Matthew reclined in his seat and stared straight ahead. "She told me to go. Believe me, it's better this way." he pressed out.

Sybil could not believe it. "I'm sure you must have misunderstood her."

No reply.

"Darling, leave the man alone." Branson called from the driver's seat.

Sybil huffed indignantly. Men. She shook her head at Matthew, who seemed to crumple at last.

"Tell Mary that I...tell her..." it broke from his lips, before he checked himself and bit his tongue. "Tell her what?" Sybil pressed him, nearly in tears. "Tell her what, Matthew?"

"Never mind." Matthew growled and sat back again. "Goodbye."

Branson started the engine and Sybil stepped away at last, cursing those stubborn male egos. When the car had almost disappeared from her sight, she hurried into the great house, straight upstairs to her eldest sister's room.

There was no need to wake Mary. She was laying fully dressed on her bed, on top of the covers, facing the window. Anna had come in to undress her, but she had sent her away. If only her mind would shut up, she could not bear the incessant whirl of her thoughts and feelings.

Her feet shuffled restlessly, and a silent tear crept down her cheek down to her right ear. Every time she closed her eyes, the same images flashed before them...

Matthew's pallid face, the sad expression, the rage and hurt in his light blue eyes. And then those moments of happiness, when he had come undone at her touch...the desire, the ecstasy she had given him. And the love. Those words of love he had whispered to her, so softly...

But in the next moment his voice would turn hard like flint in her ears, barking out such hurtful things...how he must hate her now! How on earth will they face each other tomorrow?

Perhaps he will simply ignore her and go back to Lavinia. The idea was painful, even though she knew it was not her place to be irked. She could hardly tell him to marry Lavinia and be jealous about it at the same time.

No, she would have to pull herself together from now on. And so would he. She had made it quite clear to him last night, that they needed to stop his nonsense. For it was nothing but nonesense, wasn't it?

If Matthew loved her so very much, why had he withdrawn his proposal to her in the first place? They couldn't jump in and out of engagements. No matter what their reasons may be...

Evelyn loved her and he'd never given up on her...unlike Matthew.

Full of resentment, it was easy to convince herself that Matthew's proclamations of love were not to be trusted. So he was unhappy with Lavinia and jealous of Evelyn, that did not give him the right to turn her life upside down!

She sobbed, wiping angrily at her eyes. How she hated crying, this weakness. Tomorrow, she would ignore him and focus on Evelyn, that ought to put everything back into perspective.

"Mary!" Sybil burst into her bedroom without knocking. Mary turned around in fright.

What now?

"I'm not well...please leave me alone!" she grumbled, looking sternly at her little sister, who closed the door behind her. There was something odd about the way Sybil leaned against the frame, a disturbing mixture of pity and sorrow on her beautiful round face. Mary sat up.

"I don't know what happened between the two of you last night, but you ought to know that Matthew just left for the six o' clock train." Sybil whispered, trying to reign in her excitement.

Mary stared at her aghast.

"Don't you understand? He's headed back to the front!" Sybil added more forcefully. This had the desired effect, as Mary jumped off the bed. Sybil came forth to take her hand, when someone knocked on the door behind them. She ignored it, addressing her sister. "But why...he's still on leave..."

"Mary, are you awake? I need to talk to you." Rober's voice called from outside. Mary straightened herself and squeezed Sybil's hand gratefully.

"Yes, Papa. I shall be downstairs in a while."

Robert nodded gravely, looking down. He held three letters in his hand. And something that belonged to Mary. God knows how Matthew had got hold of it. After he'd told him about his 'call' back to the front, Robert had retired to bed, merely to toss and turn, until Cora got exasperated and he rose. Finally, he had made up his mind to try and talk Matthew out of this rash move.

But he came too late. All he found in Matthew's room were these letters and a toy dog his father had given to the infant Mary on her first birthday.

Robert chose to wait for Mary in the library. The first servants were up and about, lighting more fires and bustling to prepare the house, though with rather less spring in their step than usual. They only had about two hours of sleep.

Twenty minutes later, Mary and Sybil entered. Mary was unnerved to sit in the library again, next to the fire-place.

Without a word, Robert went over to her and handed out one of the letters along with the dog. Mary took them reluctantly. "Thank you." she whispered. "You know that he left." Robert stated. It was not a question. "I told her." Sybil nodded, when Mary could only stare at the contents of her hands. Robert sighed.

"Sybil dear, could you please telephone Crawley House. Cousin Isobel doesn't know yet, so we should invite her over, otherwise she'll worry. There's a note for her, too...and, er...for Miss Swire as well."

That caught Mary's attention. She had assumed that Matthew would have said goodbye to Lavinia properly. "Don't tell her about this, please." she asked, holding up her own letter and the toy.

Robert agreed. "Don't worry, I won't. But Mary..." Robert started to pace in front of her, reminding her horribly of Matthew's restless pacing last night.

"...Evelyn Napier will be back here tomorrow. You better consider what you'll say to him." He meant it as a kind warning, and a hint for Mary to think about her future. Did she really want to marry Napier, even if her heart was clearly in another place.

Mary nodded blankly.

When Sybil returned, Robert proposed they wait for breakfast in the dining room. The moment Mary found herself alone, she clawed at the sealed envelope, nearly shredding it to get at its content. She had to read it three times to take in the meaning properly.

_Dear Mary, _

_If you bother to read this letter, please forgive this further intrusion. You said last night that you never wish to see me again, and I respect your wishes. But you must allow me to say goodbye at least. I wish to God that I could have had another look at you, one that was not tainted by our fight last night. I realize now that my presence has become oppressive to you. My conduct in the past days has been reprehensible and there is no excuse I can offer, except that I've deluded myself into thinking that you felt as strongly for me as I feel for you. You have made it quite clear that this is not the case and I have understood. As for the man you have chosen, I can only hope that he will prove himself worthy of your regard. Otherwise, he will have me to answer to. I can see you rolling your eyes even as I write this, but I'm sure you do not begrudge me this last opportunity to tell you what is on my mind. In fact, there is so much more I want to tell you, but I know how my sentiments embarrass you, so true to my word, I shall keep a quiet distance from now on. Finally, Mary, one last request. Please look after Mother. I know you will. Goodbye, my darling. We won't meet again. _

_I will always love you,_

_ Matthew Crawley_

Mary covered her mouth and bit down until she tasted blood. Hearing footsteps approach, she quickly hid the letter in the pocket of her skirt. For a moment she only stared at the dog in her other hand. She had given it to Matthew as a lucky charm, to protect him in the trenches.

Matthew wanted to forget her. To keep nothing of hers. Fair enough. She could not blame him for that now, after the way she had spoken to him. The things she had said...in the heat of their argument. Of course she hadn't been serious when she suggested they should never meet again.

What had possessed her to say such nonesense? She cursed her own temper.

So...after the war, he would go to Manchester or London and she would be lucky if she got a glimpse of him at her father's funeral. Mary bravely bit back the onslaught of tears. No, she had cried quite enough. It was over. This whole charade, this farce had come to an end. For better or for worse.

She had sworn to pull herself together from here on out. Matthew seemed to have seen reason. Wasn't that what she had wanted?

Edith came through the library on her way to breakfast. Mary silently joined her. Time to fit on the mask again, practice countenance for when her father would tell the news about Matthew's unscheduled departure, which would most likely happen a few times today, judging by the way people seemed to trickle in one after another.

A small voice in the back of Mary's mind suddenly started to scream at her. She panted softly as she heard it shout out to her loud and clear that she had driven Matthew away, driven him to spend Christmas in a cold and dirty ditch, facing the guns...

With all the strength she could muster, Mary pushed these thoughts so far from herself that she felt nauseaus. In her bedroom, Sybil had told Mary about Matthew's assertions that it was upon her bidding that he left. Mary had denied it. How could she possibly explain to Sybil all that had passed between them last night?

Of course she had never imagined he would take her words quite so serious, to go charging back into battle, just because she suggested they should stay out of each other's hair. It was a manner of expressing one's anger, not to be taken at face value! How idiotic! Must he always take everything she said so much to heart? They were just words after all...

_...because they live in my memory, as fresh as the day they were spoken..._

Mary groaned inwardly. If anything happened to him now, it would be the end of her. How could she go on, knowing that he had gone back to fight when he wasn't supposed to, because of her unthinking words.

She glared at the toy dog as if it was his fault. On an impulse Mary raised her arm to throw the silly toy into the fire. Instead, she pressed it against her heart and closed her eyes to say a silent prayer for its rightful owner...

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, and please review and let me know what you think. Really, I want to know people's honest opinions, it's invaluable in writing this :) Next time: We're going to France...**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Hello, dears! Thanks ever so much for the lovely reviews! You guys help me stay motivated that I can keep this thing going :) Now, this chapter we're jumping locations a few times, hope it's not too confusing. Matthew's back in France and Mary's making a decision at last...**

* * *

**XXIII.**

Matthew had to run in order to catch the train, but he managed to jump onto a 3rd Class car just in time. On his way through to the 1st Class compartment, a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

"Mr. Crawley? Excuse me...Captain Crawley of course!"

He recognized the speaker as one of the Downton footmen. In uniform. Truth be told, he did not feel inclined to talk to another memory of a place he had to put out of his mind as soon as possible. Still, there was no need to be rude either.

"William, isn't it?" The young man saluted eagerly. "Mason, Sir. I am to report to you, although I figured it would be upon arrival. You see, I'm in your regiment, Captain. Training's over and now I'm headed to France for the first time..." He hesitated, "I wonder...would you mind me tagging along, until we get there. I won't be a bother. Perhaps I could be of service to you."

Matthew stared at him, not sure what to do. Having something that belonged to Downton constantly by his side was a stupid idea...and a very tempting one.

"Very well, come with me. I'm in First Class, we'll see if I can get you a seat there." he finally said, nodding towards the next car.

William could not believe his luck. He knew that Lord Grantham had pulled some strings to have him assigned to Captain Crawley's regiment, but to find him here, right now, was sheer dumb luck.

The longer they sat together in the almost empty compartment, the more obvious it became that something was not sitting right with the Captain. He looked pale and peaky, staring out of the window for most of the journey, hardly ever talking. He seemed altogether unwell. William did not dare ask him why he was going back to the front three days before his leave was over.

It was when they were crossing the channel that Matthew admitted to feeling under the weather. So in the end it turned out rather convenient to have a soldier servant by his side to take care of things while he was indisposed.

They made the journey to the Somme in one day and arrived where their regiment was stationed at nightfall. If William Mason had still exhibited a sickening degree of enthusiasm for the great adventure of war, he was at last silenced by the unholy atmosphere that greeted him in the trenches.

The freezing cold and the dirty snow everywhere did not enhance the attraction of the place. A soldier played carols on an old rusty accordion, his face grimy and sullen even as he made merry music. It seemed out of place here anyways.

"So, is it all you dreamed of, Mason?" Matthew asked sardonically, when they settled in the quaters, a mere dug out hole in the grounds of the trenches. William stared at him in silent terror.

The petroleum lamps were lit and Sergeant Stevens came in. "Captain? What are you doing here? I thought you were on leave over the holidays." Matthew shrugged. "Well, I came back." he muttered. That was all the explanation anyone would get out of him. William's worry increased...

* * *

...as did everyone else's back at Downton Abbey. Isobel had come straight after Sybil's phone call and would stay for dinner later. To Mary's horror, she kept addressing_ her _when she inquired about Matthew and his reasons for leaving. One might think she knew about their tiff. The idea was highly disconcerting.

"Doesn't it say in his note?" Mary wondered innocently and pointed to the piece of paper in Isobel's hand. There would be an explanation. And a lie, Mary was certain.

"He writes...that there was trouble within his regiment, and he was asked to return immediately. Last night." She looked up from the letter, bewildered. "I thought you came back in the early morning. How could he have had a phone call in the night?"

Robert shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Matthew was not with us when we returned. He'd been walking home alone, before the storm hit...or so he told me."

Isobel looked at Mary again, who promptly averted her gaze.

No, she would not be made a scape-goat by his mother or his fiancée. Lavinia was openly glaring at her from the other end of the room. The girl was still in bad shape, nursing a heavy head and an upset stomach from last night's over-indulgence.

"Let us pray that he is not in any real trouble down there." Cora intervened, finding it unfair that Mary should bear the blame automatically.

It was a tense tea time, which promised to go over into an even less bearable dinner, for which Violet and Evelyn would return to the Abbey.

Lavinia had been delivered her letter by Matthew around two in the afternoon, when she had been sober enough to receive a visitor. Edith gave her the letter and patiently stayed to gauge the young woman's reaction.

The furious way in which Lavinia had shredded the letter bode nothing pleasant. All the information she volunteered, however, was that Matthew apologized for leaving so abruptly and not saying goodbye to her. Even if he had wished to, the state she had been in upon arrival at Downton last night would have prevented it, Edith thought wrily.

Sybil had told Edith in private about Mary's letter, but made her swear not to tell a living soul.

Letters or not, Mary remained the prime suspect. And so when dinner was served at eight, all furtive glances went into her direction.

"How unfortunate for your Cousin...I did not think anyone would be compelled to give up their leave on such short notice." Evelyn commented. He was not about to feign any great regret about his rival's absence, though he was sorry to regard him as such from now on.

Matthew Crawley was a decent fellow in Evelyn's eyes, but he had definitely overstepped his boundaries last night. Quite boldly so, too. Evelyn took the news of Matthew's sudden departure to be a direct result of their confrontation at the ball.

In the end, he mostly felt relieved, while the rest of the party fell into gloom.

He also wondered idly about Miss Swire, who had rallied tolerably well. She did not appear too broken up about her fiancé absence and rather more determined to keep up appearances. Of what exactly, Evelyn was not sure.

Lavinia, for her part, was somewhere between denial and fury. She blamed Mary Crawley entirely and let her know as much. To her irritation and confusion, Mary reciprocated with nothing but cordiality and kindness. And in the following days before Christmas, Mary crammed her time full of tasks to accomplish, be it more festive preparations, the entertainment of guests or the aftermath of her charity efforts.

On the 23rd, she accepted Isobel's invitation to check on the hospital and to play treasurer to the funds they had gathered at the ball, two nights ago. Unfortunately, Mary had underestimated Isobel's determination to find out the exact circumstances of her son's hasty departure.

"I knew he was lying. He wasn't called back, was he?" Isobel cut straight to the point over a cup of tea in the living room of Crawley House. Mary burned her tongue on the hot beverage.

"Cousin Isobel, I..." she began, but the look in the elder woman's eyes silenced her protests. She had driven her son away, therefore she owed her the truth at the very least.

"No...there was no call." Mary admitted with quiet shame.

Isobel nodded slowly, glad that Mary was being honest. "I see. There was an argument before he left?" she prodded.

Mary took a heart, seeing that her interrogator was not hostile, just genuinely concerned.

"Yes." She looked aside for a moment, then shook her head delicately. "The things we said to each other! Everything just...exploded out of control...I don't even know how it got that far." Somehow, it was a relief to say it out loud, all the things that kept spinning endlessly inside Mary's mind.

"Well...I think it was petulant of him." Isobel decided. "Matthew must learn to deal with things instead of running away from them if they don't go his way. I'm not blaming you at all, you know." Mary was glad to hear it.

"As it is, Matthew can be terribly stubborn and he tends to overreact. His father was just the same." Isobel explained, calmer now that she knew the truth.

Mary was suddenly overcome by a strange wave of affection for the other woman. Only Isobel could relate to what Mary felt and how difficult it can be with Matthew, whom they both adored and feared for at the same time.

"I'm more worried about him than ever." Isobel admitted finally, "And his letter annoyed me. I know, he wrote to Lavinia, but I'm surprised that you didn't receive a note..."

Mary blushed, obviously caught out. "I did." she said firmly, trusting that Isobel would not bite her head off after all. "I'm sorry that I haven't told you before, but I'd prefer if Miss Swire and...Mr. Napier would not hear about it."

Isobel understood and promised discretion. "Well, all we can do now is to pray for his safe return." Isobel concluded, after Mary had given a brief summery of her letter, leaving out the more intimate details.

"He won't return to Downton Abbey, but I'm sure he will see you and Miss Swire. He made it quite clear that he won't see me again...which I deserve, I guess." Mary murmured into her cup of tea. It had gone cold.

Isobel shook her head curiously, as if Mary had said something very simple. "If he survives, you will see him again." Isobel was convinced of that. "I wonder if I ought to invite Lavinia to stay here. She must be quite broken up. And it must be difficult to have her around."

In one way, Mary would have appreciated to get rid of Lavinia, but somehow, her guilt and her determination to concentrate on Evelyn and accept Lavinia as Matthew's eventual bride, no matter what he was saying, prevented her from agreeing.

"No, I think she enjoys her stay at Downton with us and the company takes her mind off Matthew." Mary suddenly recalled Matthew's request to her, to look out for his mother. "And surely you don't want to spend Christmas alone here. Come and join us, please." Mary had not really expected Isobel to take her up on the offer, but was pleasantly surprised when she did.

Unfortunately, that night at dinner, two more unexpected things threw Mary off balance. On the outside, the upheaval seemed to have calmed down, enough to allow polite, unanxious conversation.

Evelyn had asked his parents permission to have the wedding scheduled for spring, for when he would be on leave again.

"Well, they were...excited. And of course, Lady Grantham told me how she would like for Mary to get married in spring." he announced over dessert, stunning them all.

Cora blinked at him with big round eyes. She had done no such thing, or at least not in that context...

"Why, I..." she began, but Robert rescued her. "I'm sure Cora meant for Mary to get married the spring _after_ the war has ended. Sadly, we're not quite there yet, not by the look of things."

Mary was silent. She knew where Evelyn's sudden panic stemmed from and she could not blame him. He turned to her father and argued, "I think you are right, the war is dragging on, which is one reason for my suggestion. If we don't do it soon, we may have to wait years."

It _was_ a valid argument, but no one wanted to agree with him. Mary patted her fiancé's hand. "I understand what you mean. We'll talk about it later." she said gently, dismissing his plans with a fond smile.

Evelyn was easily appeased, a trait which Mary valued in him. Matthew, being as stubborn as herself, would have thrown a tantrum at this point...

The very thought of Matthew pained her, so she quickly took a draught of sherry and tried to push it back into its dark corner.

"Anyone up for playing cards later?" Edith wondered aloud. Mary nodded at her gratefully for taking the conversation somewhere else. "Why not? I dare say, it'll cheer us all up." Violet said, making no pretense that this party was in dire need of cheering.

It turned out quite an enjoyable evening of playing cards, while the elders talked quietly. Violet, Isobel, Cora and Rosamund sat huddled together over glasses of port.

"I hear there was a bit of a scandal at the ball after I left." Violet said inquisitively. Isobel perked up, having left at the same hour as the Dowager. "Not quite. We had a sort of...auction going." Cora said evasively.

"Yes, yes. Matthew won the auction, I understand." Violet pursed her lips. Rosamund had already come by this morning and tattled everything to her in detail of course...

"What auction?" Isobel asked. Cora and Rosamund had the good grace to look mildly ashamed, given that they had acted as the main force behind the idea. "Oh, didn't you hear? Mary was auctioned off." Violet sniffed. All four women turned to where Mary was sitting, staring unseengly into her cards at a game of whist.

"And Lavinia still here? Oh dear, the girl has no pride..." Rosamund sneered unkindly. Isobel had thought something along the same lines since Matthew's letter, but she did not want to add fuel to Rosamund cruelty.

"So Mary will be wed come spring?" she asked instead.

Mary herself was wondering the same thing all night. Evelyn was rather determined. She had disappointed him so much in the past days, it just seemed impossible to say no to him now. And yet, the pressure was starting to get to her.

At bedtime, Mary bid him goodnight, then remained alone in the great hall, unsure what to do. She felt restless again and started to pace in front of the vast Christmas tree. It still wanted decorating, which was scheduled for tomorrow, she recalled...

Without warning, she felt a wave of sickness, as if she were about to blacken out. All her fears and misgivings came crashing around her like tumbling walls. Mary quickly moved to a corner behind the tree and sank down. She started to weep very quietly, lest someone passing by would notice.

All her life, Mary had been raised to belief in the importance of propriety and the rules of society adhering to it. That one time when she had slipped, she had ended up half crushed by a dead body in her own bed. And for the longest, she had assumed that it had been her rightful punishment for her indiscretion, that it had been her own fault...

But now she knew it wasn't true. She had been too afraid to call for help, too conscious of the repercussions of a discovery, even if it may have prevented the worst...

She knew now that Kemal had used her fear of impropriety to his advantage...

And now that Matthew, _her_ Matthew asked her to throw all caution to the wind and marry him, even if it may seem_ improper_, she had scorned him and snubbed him coldly, harshly...

In 1913 she had not had the courage to tell Kemal to go...and two nights ago, she had not had the courage to tell Matthew to stay. And all for what? Propriety? People's opinion? The look of things?

Hadn't she always been the bravest, the most courageous? Riding faster and jumping higher than any man on a horse? Calm and fearless even at her debut, when other debs had stumbled over their white gowns and stammered when speaking to their Majesties...

That had been the real Mary Crawley, who told people nothing but the truth, even if it hurt. Who fought for her inheritance rights even when no one believed she had any rights at all...no one except Matthew of course...

Mary sat with her face buried in the folds of her silken gown, so she did not notice when someone stepped up to her, the soles of their fine shoes soundless on the heavy carpet.

Warm arms engulfed Mary and drew her hesitantly towards someone's body. She opened her eyes and was shocked to see it was Edith who was embracing her elder sister. Edith looked as surprised as Mary felt, as if she could not believe what she was doing there herself.

In all their years together, Edith had never seen Mary in such a state...so sad, so vulnerable. And the sight of it scared her.

As much as she hated her sister's superior attitude, there was something strangely comforting and reassuring in Mary's steadfast condescension. Something_ timeless_, that could not be altered or shaken by the war and all its misery...

Until now.

Edith could pinpoint exactly the last time she and Mary had embraced. It had been at a country fair in Ripon, when she was only seven years old and a dog had set its teeth into her left ankle. Mary had chased the dog away and examined the wound. "It's only a scratch." she'd said, but when Edith would not cease to howl, Mary had taken her into her arms and hummed a little tune to comfort her sister until help arrived...

"I'm sure nothing will happen to him. He's a good soldier...and from what Evelyn said, there is less fighting at Christmas." Edith whispered, not quite sure if her words were any comfort at all. She bit her lip, then looked up to find the third Crawley sister standing a few feet away from them.

Sybil came over and crouched down in front of Mary. "You want to _do_ something, don't you?" she whispered, sounding fierce. Mary gazed up at her. "What?" Her eyes flickered from Sybil's face to Edith's, who was just as confused. "You do, don't you?" Sybil repeated, then twisted to sit down on the other side of Mary.

She leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially. "Because if you do...I have a plan."

* * *

After only one day, William Mason was officially installed as Captain Crawley's aide-de-camp and turned out to be an indispensable blessing seen as Matthew was definitely sickening. His temperature had risen steadily since arrival and he felt terribly weak. At every coughing fit, William winced. It reminded him terribly of his own mother's last days before she had succumbed to her illness.

The front was altogether quiet two days before Christmas. Unfortunately, they could not trust it to remain this way and it usually bode nothing well when the other side was silent. Matthew had only issued a few orders and inspected the state of the trench and his fellow soldiers. William shadowed his every step, flinching whenever he stared into the sallow, despondent faces of the men who had been there much longer and seen more horrors that he could ever imagine.

That following night, they sat quietly in the quaters, each preoccupied with his own musings. Matthew was coughing violently, and in his weakness he finally allowed himself to think of Downton. He imagined Mary in one of her evening dresses, sitting at the crammed dinner table...with Napier by her side no doubt, touching her hand, perhaps even kissing...

Matthew closed his eyes briefly, to acknowledge the pain and let it pass.

Would she be happy, he wondered, glad for his absence? Or even waste another thought on him at all? With a defiant huff, he threw down the army charts he had been perusing.

"Something wrong, Sir?" William looked up from his own work, a letter to Daisy. Matthew did not reply and William watched with unease how he sat up to pull a stack of folded papers from underneath his pillow. When asked what he was doing, Captain Crawley would say he wrote letters, but William had not seen him sent off anything yet, except telegrams to the headquaters.

William shook his head as he took in Matthew's appearance. His eyes were dull and blood-shot, with dark circles and he was feverish. When William suggested he should perhaps go see the medical staff, Matthew had told him off quite bluntly. "I've got a cold." he'd grumble, before being seized by another round of coughs that left him short of breath.

After watching him write for some odd minutes, William sighed and put his own letter down. His eyes glid over to the table where Captain Crawley kept his personal belongings. Between a golden pocketwatch and a stack of leather-bound books, the photograph of a woman stood propped up against a wooden beam.

"Lady Mary is the only one with dark eyes in the family." William observed, deciding to be bold. The pen halted and Matthew gazed up. For an instant, William thought he would get angry. Instead, Matthew only smiled wrily. "You're right." The words made him cough again.

"You know...downstairs we know quite a lot of what is going on with our lord and ladyships and...their hearts."

At last, Matthew put his writing away and looked side-ways at his aide-de-camp. "Is that so? And what do _you_ know about Lady Mary's heart?" he wondered, sarcasm dripping from his dry lips.

William was not to be discouraged by his tone. "Oh I remember she was heartbroken in '14 when you left to enlist..." he baited.

Matthew huffed again and shook his head. "Disappointed maybe. But I assure you Mary has no inkling what real heartache feels like." He frowned then, glancing quickly at the sheets of paper he'd been previously filling with words.

William shrugged. "She did not seem particularly happy when she heard about Miss Swire."

This time Matthew laughed, though it quickly went over into another fit of coughing. What nonesense the boy was talking. Mary had made it abundantly clear that she did not mind him marrying Lavinia. On the contrary, she had urged him to do so, because she preferred to be with Napier...

"Mary's very fond of Mr. Napier...but I don't think she loves him." William broke off, not sure how far he could go at this point.

Matthew wanted to put his hands over his ears and hear no more. William's naive speeches pained him, because he knew them to be wrong. The boy had no idea what he was talking about, of that Matthew was sure. And yet he lapped up every word...

"I believe the ring on Mary's left hand begs to differ." he finally concluded, tearing his eyes away from the eager face of the former footman. William shook his head. "No offence, Sir, but Lady Mary had been more or less engaged three times now and we still haven't seen her shop for a wedding gown...she's a tricky bride-to-be." He couldn't quite surpress a smirk, as cheeky as it might be.

Matthew snorted. "Don't I know it." And an unbidden wave of hope crept up in him, though he knew he had no right to it.

"What about you, Mason? Is there a girl waiting for you at home?"

William's grin became more pronounced. "Daisy. She's the kitchen maid under Mrs. Patmore. I'm not sure if you've ever seen her." he said with evident joy and a touch of pride.

Matthew smiled politely, but gnashed his teeth in quiet envy. Why could he not have fallen for a normal girl, a simple one. Why did he have to love the most complicated, the most unattainable woman who ever walked the earth?

"It took a good while for me to win her over. She used to fancy Thomas, the first footman." William pulled a face at the hideous memory. Matthew nodded slowly. Perhaps love was never easy or simple. "But at least you have her now." he stated.

William got up and started to pace. "Yes. But it was a struggle, I can tell you. What I mean to say is, don't give up, Sir." Matthew stared at the younger man. "Even if things look hopeless now, it doesn't have to end like this. You should go back and...and fight for her." William intoned, shaking his fist in the air like a political agitator.

Matthew shook his head sadly. "Been there. Done that. She despises me now. The more I fought, the more was her disgust with me." He hung his head, stifling a cough.

"Then find another way. You're a lawyer, aren't you? You're smart, got an education. I'm sure you got more wit than her fiancé, the dullard." Matthew couldn't help the short bark of unkind laughter that escaped him. "I'm serious, he's not half as smart as you, that Mr. Napier. 'Cause he never had to be, always knew he'd have his father's Earldom one day." William sniffed. "But you do know what it's like to work for a living..."

Somehow, Matthew could see his point. If only Mary loved him a little bit more, he may have been able to convince her, if he 'worked' on it hard enough. "Mary won't listen." he threw in, miserably, then coughed some more.

"I believe she will now...it must have been a shock when you left so abruptly, and she had a few days to mull it all over." William said full of conviction.

Mason's words were so tempting, Matthew felt hopes and dreams slowly return, despite himself. He smiled genuinely, when Sergeant Stevens suddenly barged into the bunker. "Captain Crawley, a telegram for you." Both Matthew and William stared at each other, thinking the same. Could it really be, did Mary write to him? Jumping up way too fast, he staggered towards the Sergeant, who was covered with icy flakes. It was snowing again.

"Thank you." he said, took the paper and tried to unfold it. It was most likely from his mother, who would be furious with him, but he could not shake the ridiculous hope that it was Mary's reply to the letter he'd left her. "What is it?" William asked, shamefully aware of how nosy he was being.

He looked at the blonde young officer, who stood completely motionless, staring at the short message in his right hand. Matthew's face fell. "Nothing." he replied quickly and crumpled the note in his fist. "I...er, I need to go make the rounds." Without another look at his companion, Matthew grabbed his coat and stepped outside.

When William followed and squinted around in the dark. He found his Captain not too far off, looking up at the sky. With his eyes closed, he let the heavy snowflakes fall onto his face.

"Are you alright, Sir?" William asked, plainly seeing that this was not the case.

"Of course. Perfectly so." Matthew lied, feeling all strength slip out of his legs. He meant to walk, but had to lean against the filthy wall of the dug-out. "You need to see a doctor, Sir. I'm not being funny." William hissed, trying to pull Matthew's arm.

Matthew frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but all that came out was a wheeze. Pains stabbed in his lungs and he leaned his head back again, letting the snow cake his face. It was then that William realized why he did it. Matthew's head was burning up.

"You'll catch your death, Sir. Come on, I must get you inside." William said more forcefully, gripping Matthew with both hands now.

"What're you getting up to, William?" an all too familiar snide voice asked from behind. William turned to find Thomas, dressed up in a medical corps uniform. "Thomas...never thought I'd be glad to see _you_, but you got to give us a hand, we've to get him inside." William said as he struggled to keep his officer upright.

"It's Corporal Barrow to you. Who's that sitting in the muck?" Thomas sneered, about to light up another cigarette.

"It's Captain Crawley, your future_ employer_, if you care to ever go back to Downton, so get over here and bloody well help me!" William barked and it was enough to convince Thomas. Together they managed to carry Matthew back into his bunk.

"For God's sake, what's wrong with him?" Thomas groaned as he took in the young officer's pallor and laboured breathing.

"You tell me, Mr. _Medical Corporal_...he'd been sickening for a few days..since we came back from England. And...I think he's had bad news." Before Thomas had a chance to tell William off for his cheek, Sergeant Stevens came back inside to inquire what the news had been.

"Well, if he doesn't get better, we must send him off to a medical camp near by. Can't risk him infecting the entire regiment." the Sergeant mused grimly. "I don't believe it's contagious, Sir. I've been with him all this time and I feel fine." William explained.

Thomas looked troubled. "Not sure, but it sounds like a nasty case of pneumonia to me..."

Their voices sounded muffled in Matthew's ears. Everything seemed muffled, as if the whole world had been drowned in cotton. Everything was suddenly surreal and blurred...

...everything except for the photograph on the table. Dragging his heavy eyes open, Matthew sought out her face and he smiled weakly when he found her looking back at him...

* * *

Many miles away, the hairs on Mary's arm stood up like needles. She sat bolt upright in her bed, trying to catch her breath. It didn't seem to come properly. And oh, what a nightmare she had...

Two hours ago, she had dismissed Sybil's ludicrous plan. Foolishly. Now, without a moment to spare, she jumped out of bed and grabbed her nightgown. Her bare feet patted on the cold floor as she hastened to dress...

Two hours later, Mary sat crammed between both her sisters in the backseat of the Grantham car. Tom Branson was speeding them down the deserted roads of Yorkshire. The night was cold and they huddled closer together.

"I'll spend Christmas in gaol for car theft and the kidnapping of the three daughters of the Earl of Grantham..." Tom complained over his shoulder, though they could see him grinning in the milky light of the moon.

"Merry Christmas then, darling." Sybil grinned back and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. Mary did not feel like laughing at all. In her right fist she clutched her little stuffed toy dog..._their_ dog...until her knuckles turned white.

Matthew needed it, she thought fiercely, and so she would bring it to him...

**A/N: The Crawley Sisters on a romantic adventure! Sorry if you expected another twist, but I'm dying to get M/M back together, so this seemed convenient :) And well, hands up who also tutted at Matthew's freezing his butt off in the snow storm...the boy had to catch pneumonia! Next chapter: Nurse Mary is back with a vengeance...look out Clarkson! **

**Thanks for reading, guys! Reviews would be absolultely darling :) **


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Thanks for the latest reviews, dears! They keep me on my track here :) I had great fun writing this chapter, hope you enjoy :) **

**XXIV. **

They had medicated Matthew, which seemed to calm him down and keep the fever steady. In the morning William was assigned to a different task than the care of his officer, however.

"You can look after him later. It's been suspiciously calm all week, we're not sure what to make of it. Just keep a look out, they might be up to something." Sergeant Stevens said, motioning with his head over to where the German trenches were.

William doubted that. "At Christmas?" he asked. "I imagine they'd rather have a 'silent night'." he joked, but the Sergeant had lost his sense of humour somewhere between Verdun and the Somme.

"Wouldn't bet on it." he replied gruffly and turned to show William his new post.

Meanwhile, Matthew was up and poring over the latest front reports. He still felt rather miserable, though he would not admit to it in front of the other soldiers. He was responsible for them and it would not do to let his men down for a bit of a coughing.

He was Captain of his regiment after all...

William had helped him dress before he left for his post and after neatly stowing away a stash of unsent letters, Matthew had slowly made his way outside into the cold winter air, meaning to resume his duties.

Work and duty had also proven to be the best antidote for his aching heart in the past years.

Unfortunatly, after only a few paces, he was forced to stop and lean against the filthy trench wall. The cold day was extremely bright and the sunlight burned in his eyes, blinding him badly. Cursing, he gathered his strength and took another step forward.

And then he saw it. A flash of glittering scarlet, of pearly white and ebony.

He shook his head as if to clear it and straightened himself. His cough had subsided somewhat but his chest still felt extremely tight. He could barely breathe.

There it was again...

Flitting around the corner of the trenchline. Behind two soldiers, who stood in the cold, smoking and whispering. Matthew forced his feet forward, then stopped again. What on earth was that? The only flash of colour you ever saw in the drab world of the trenches was the scarlet of blood...

Matthew's hand passed over his eyes. Touching the skin of his feverish forehead, he could feel it burning even through the leather glove. Perhaps he had better lay back down after all. That might be for the best...

Taking one last look at the corner, he stiffened and gasped.

_Mary. _

Standing there in her scarlet dress, her skin whiter and purer as the fresh snow that covered the lines.

He could only stare at her and she simply stared back at him. Her black eyes were big and mournful. She opened her mouth and tried to say something to him...tell him something...

...but no sound came out.

Matthew crept closer towards the vision, his arms ached, but he raised them nonetheless. He wanted...he needed to hold her. It was bitter cold and she didn't even have a coat. What was she thinking? What was she even doing _here_ in this hell hole of all places? Consternation and concern creased his feverish brow as he took another shaky step.

What was she trying to say? He couldn't understand her. And she looked so terribly troubled...

In the next moment, Matthew's vision blurred and Mary was gone. "No!" he wheezed, forcing his legs to move faster, so he might still catch her. "Come back...it's dangerous."

The two soldiers eyed him warily, but did nothing to stop their Captain as he hurried past them. He was a good officer, always reasonable and responsible. He knew what he was doing, surely...

* * *

Sybil and Mary exchanged a nervous glance as their sister made herself comfortable behind the wheel of the car. Tom had driven them for hours on end and Edith had volunteered to take his place for a while. "I've already steered a tractor. You can trust me." she had assured them.

Mary didn't really care _how_ they moved forward, as long as they did. There were so many things she wanted to tell Matthew. And she would tell him - everything! If he despised her then, she would have to deal with it. But at least she would not spend another miserable day wondering what could have been if she had only been honest. With herself. With Matthew. And with Evelyn...

To her shame, she had not even left him a note to explain her depature. Surely, there will be enough chaos caused by the absence of the three sisters as it is. Sybil had reasoned that it will most likely cause havoc, but not a scandal, because three sisters travelling together hardly qualified as a crime.

They were all of age and in the company of a...former servant. Where was the harm in that?

"We're past London." Tom announced, turning his head to find Sybil snoring next to her sister on the backseat. "Shouldn't we take a break somewhere?" He addressed Mary. "No." she replied, then sighed. "But...how did you think this would work? You can hardly follow him to the front line." Tom said sternly. "I..." Mary didn't know what to say. She wasn't prepared at all, but she didn't want anything to stop their momentum. Surely, she could think of something once they were in France.

"Look..." Tom turned fully around to fix Mary with his most reasonable expression. "I have a cousin living in Dover. He's running a pub there. I'm sure he can set us up for a night or two until you know how to go about this..."

It sounded very reasonable indeed and as Mary gazed down at her exhausted sister next to her, she nodded at last. "Alright. We'll stay the night. But what if..." she turned towards the window.

"What if what?" Tom asked softly, but she shook her head vehemently. "Nothing..." She didn't want to speak of her worries, not now. With a sigh, Tom turned back to Edith, who had trouble shifting gear. As usual.

* * *

Matthew stumbled blindly forward, his eyes kept unfocussing, but he still squinted for any signs of Mary. "Sir? What are you doing out here?" William had seen him come around the corner and frowned. "At ease, Mason. I'm checking on the company." Matthew said firmly, pulling himself upright. Before William could intervene, he moved past him.

Half an hour, and nearly the entire length of their trench line later Matthew started to cough again. It felt worse than ever. With every heave, his chest hurt, as if an iron vice was tightened around it. Sweat cascaded down his back underneath the thick, mud-crusted uniform and his blonde hair was matted under his helmet. It felt heavy and oppressive on his head, but could not take it off...

_Where was she? He had seen her, hadn't he? She must be here...and she wanted to say something..._

When he reached the end of the frontline, he stopped abruptly and looked around himself. His breath came in short puffs, clouding the air around him. A soldier who stood guard at this part of the trench some feet away, lit up a cigarette.

Matthew ignored him...because there it was again...a flash of scarlet.

A moment later, Private Read spit out his cigarette and ran backwards to call for help. Captain Crawley had just gone for a stroll between the frontlines...

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when the three sisters Crawley and their Irish company arrived at _Tiernan's Pub_ at the dockside of Dover. Tom's cousin Jack stood in the door, a broad grin on his ruddy face.

"Would you look at at that! Little Tommy Branson with three lovely Ladies in tow." he laughed goodnaturedly. "Ah go on. Get in. We're frozen and hungry." Tom growled, though he smiled just as broadly.

Edith threw an uneasy glance at Mary. They were definitely out of their usual sphere now. Sybil, more alert after her nap, hung on Tom's arm. He whispered something to her and she smiled.

Together they entered the noisy pub. It was a lively place, well frequented by sailors and other regulars. The air inside was thick with smoke and the smell of roast and hot pies.

"Give us a corner, will you?" Tom requested and Mary could not help a little smile as Jack shooed a group of inebriated dock workers out of their best seating corner. He quickly wiped the table and bench. When he looked back up at the Ladies, his face had turned a brighter shade of red. Tom pushed him aside. "Thanks. Now, bring us something decent to eat."

As soon as Jack had disappeared, Sybil snorted at Tom. "The way you order him around, one could think you were Master of the house." she teased him. Tom blushed. "Well...we're family. He'll bark at me once you're out of earshot, just wait." he smiled at his secret fiancé, squeezing her hand gently under the table.

"So...what now?" Edith finally addressed the important topic. All eyes were on Mary, but she still had no clear answer for them. Before she could confess her troubles, their dinner was served. Jack came to their table, followed by a pretty dark-haired woman. Her green eyes sparkled in the sparse light of the tavern. They carried four plates with Irish stew and pints of guinness. "On the house." Jack informed them proudly. "Meghan, how are you?" Tom addressed the woman. Sybil's eyes narrowed.

"Your relatives are very friendly." Edith remarked as she gingerly picked up a fork. "Friendlier than your lot would be to me if I ever came for a call." Tom countered. "You'll have to one day, if we are to get married." Sybil reminded him and placed her hand on his arm until Meghan left their table. Tom took a quick sip from his pint at the prospect of meeting his Lordship as a father-in-law.

"Perhaps I ought to send a letter ahead. Or cable him..." Mary mused over her plate of stew. She hadn't eaten in over a day and her stomach rumbled, but a wave of dread closed it up at the same time.

"Sounds reasonable enough." Tom nodded between mouthfuls of stew. "Can't go charging into France like that...who knows, if we get really lucky, we'll stumble over some Germans instead of your cousin's regiment."

* * *

Matthew leaned his back against the tree. He was completely disoriented. How did he get here? He couldn't tell. There was the flash of colour again, that he took to be Mary and he had followed it...

And now he was all alone. In some godforsaken patch of forest, which could only be in no man's land...

The sky above him began to darken and he felt sicker than ever. Panting, he took his helmet off and threw it down. His teeth chattered, but he felt like burning up at the same time. Sweat was running steadily down his face and neck now, and every breath he took sounded loud and winded. Wheezing and coughing.

And there - a few feet away from him, a person was moving into his direction.

_Mary, _he thought as relief flooded him. He'd found her...

He forced his tired eyes open to see clearer. But the last thing he actually saw before blackening out was the dark frozen mud he landed in face down.

The forest was silent, except for the sound of thick boots crunching on the icy ground...

* * *

Mary was trying to write on the sticky surface of the pub table. Her head felt heavy and fuzzy from the unfamiliar ingestion of beer. Edith kept making remarks about how unsuitable it was for them to sit in a public house, the three daughters of an Earl. "Not more unsuitable than an Earl's daughter working as a _farm hand_..." Sybil had reminded her, effectively silencing Edith's protests.

_Dear Matthew, _

_I received your note. All I can say is that I am sorry for the way we have parted. You don't know how sorry I am..._

She paused as the tip of the pencil Jack had given her broke. Edith peeked over her shoulder. "Why are you apologizing to him? Just tell him to meet you in Paris." Mary poked her in the side with her elbow. "I always apologize...now mind your own business." she said gruffly as she handed Tom the pencil to sharpen with his knife.

._..and so I would like to speak with you in person to explain some things that I have hitherto..._

Mary stopped once more, rubbing her fingers over her brow. Perhaps Edith was right and she ought to keep it short and simple.

_...I know you are still officially on leave. If you happen to be close by, we could meet in Paris._

She crumpled the paper in her fist and pulled a fresh one towards her. At this rate it might be easier to simply charge into France, even if they stumbled over the German army first...

* * *

Matthew heard someone panting above him, someone who turned him around so he lay on his back. His face hurt and he felt something wet and sticky trickling down his forehead. Everything hurt and he was still unable to breathe properly.

"Scheiße."

For an instant the voice only made him think 'It's not her' with a pang of disappointment and mild irritation. The cogs in his sickness-addled mind worked at snail pace, but suddenly everything clicked into place.

It was a swear word...in German.

Matthew tried to prise his eyes open, but it was an effort. When he did however, he found a young man hovering over him. He held a gun, and his other hand ghosted over Matthew's burning face.

The man cursed again and stood, looking around him frantically. Matthew couldn't move. His arms ached and he was too confused to even locate his own gun...his hand automatically went to the coat pocket instead, but what he sought wasn't there. He had left the little fellow with Mary...

"Mary..." he said it out loud, watching through half-closed eyes as the soldier startled at the sound.

Gefreiter Daniel Keller blinked rapidly, unable to comprehend what a bizarr turn this day had taken. He'd only wanted to head home for Christmas as he idly traipsed down this path.

In his hand he held the last letter he'd received from his fiancée Marie in Hamburg. He'd read it so often, the paper had grown thin where he'd folded it. It had been the only thing on his mind this afternoon, getting home to see Marie...

And then this mess here happened. An enemy, a Brit...laying around in his path, like road kill.

He had watched him tumble down. But there was no shot, nothing that would have accounted for his fall. So he had come closer and found the man, an officer no less, to be in the further stages of what was clearly a bad case of pneumonia. It was obvious with the rattling breath and the severe feverish infection...

Before he was drafted in, Keller had studied medicine, to become a doctor like his father. He still knew a lot of what he'd learned...he also knew that it was expected that he take the Brit as a prisoner...

"Mary." the Brit had said then. 'Mary', Keller thought, was 'Marie' in English, wasn't it?

_Mary...Marie..._

Keller gazed down at the man pityingly. Either he was a Catholic invoking the Holy Virgin...or he also had a girl called 'Marie' waiting for him back at home.

"Captain Crawley?" another voice shouted from afar. Keller startled again and his pulse quickened.

Matthew also breathed faster as he heard Mason. The effort nearly caused him to lose consciousness again. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow, tasting iron. William came closer and he wanted to shout at him, to stay where he was, not to run into this trap...

"Halt...stop!" Keller called loudly.

William stood rooted to his spot some ten feet away from Captain Crawley and an enemy soldier, standing over him with a gun. William's hand shook even as he clutched his own weapon. It was only his third day at the front...would this be his last?

"Don't come...close." the other soldier said in a German accent. William was stunned. "You speak English?" he asked. "Yes. I learned in school..." the German replied. William's eyes dropped to the Captain, who lay prone on the forest floor, his eyes open, but otherwise motionless.

"Did you kill him?" William cried, taking an involuntary step forwards. "No!" the German shouted, raising his gun automatically at William's approach. "He's...ahh...ill." he determined after searching for the right word in English. William nodded blankly, confused by the whole situation.

In trainining they teach you to either shoot them or take them prisoner. Not to stand around and make pleasant conversation with them. William didn't know what to do...

"It's...the...lungs...I think..." the German went on and William wondered if he only wanted to buy time until more of his 'Hun' lot came bounding down the hill to bail him out. He swallowed hard.

"What's it in English...'Lungenentzundung'?" the strange soldier gazed down at Matthew who had closed his eyes again, ringing for air. William shrugged, not understanding. The soldier kept glancing behind William, to see if he was alone. "I'm on my own." William assured him. It wasn't a lie.

Keller hesitated. He knew how he wanted this to end, but he wasn't sure if he could trust the British soldier. He looked very young. The youngest were often the most volatile ones. He had been one himself when he first came to this hell hole...

"I will not shoot...if you will not." he addressed William then, whose eyebrows rose up to disappear under his helmet. William hesitated only a moment, then nodded and slowly but steadily lowered his gun, in time with the German. It was still tense as he crept closer to them.

"It's bad...I think. Bring him home...to Mary." Keller said quietly, gesturing towards Matthew.

William was so astonished that he could only stare at the other man. How on earth did the German know...

But there was no time to ponder this. He simply had to trust that this man wouldn't change his mind and shoot them while he stooped to pick up the Captain. He put Matthew's limp arm around his shoulders and so dragged him a few paces, still not turning his back to the...enemy...

William rung with himself. "Thank you." he said at last. The German smiled just as hesitantly, also backing away with his front towards them. "What's your name?" William demanded, not sure why he wanted to know. The German told him, but didn't ask for his.

"Happy Christmas Eve..." he said instead. William gave him a funny look, then smirked. "Silent night, huh?" he commented wrily, still backing away with Matthew hanging onto him like a sack of potatoes.

Keller shook his head in disbelief once the absurd encounter was over and he could resume his track back home. He pictured how he would tell this story to Marie later and what she would say. He liked to imagine that she would be proud of how he'd acted there...even if she would pull his ear and chide him for getting into such a dangerous situation. He smiled fondly and walked faster...

* * *

Mary had been the first to retire to one of the rooms that Jack had assigned to them. She was laying on her bed with the candle lit, holding the letter Matthew had left her. She knew it by heart, but the sight of Matthew's neat cursive hand was comforting.

Not for the first time she wondered what he had written to Miss Swire. On that fateful night, he had talked of breaking it off with her...but when it came down to it, would he actually have gone that far?

For her?

She knew theirs was not a long engagement, but time didn't matter in these things. Matthew was bound in honour and Lavinia had not seemed in any way inclined to end things on her own accord. And Evelyn...

Poor Evelyn. Mary could see him now, going frantic at her parent's house. How he would worry...

"Mary?" The door had opened and her sisters came in. They were to share this room, which in itself would make for a torturous night. Sybil had hoped that her sisters might be lenient and allow her to sleep in a bed with Tom, but that was pushing propriety to extremes.

However, Mary had left it to Edith to talk some sense into Sybil...otherwise she would have felt hypocritical.

"So tomorrow we're crossing over to France?" Edith asked incredulously. She had not expected this adventure to reach that far. Mary nodded. "I will, at any rate. You need not come, I won't force you." she told them as she carefully stowed away the letter.

"Don't be silly. We've come this far, haven't we?" Sybil yawned as she stretched out next to her elder sister. "And it's something new and exciting." she could not hide the glee in her voice. Mary rolled her eyes, then blew out the candle.

* * *

Inside the dug out, Thomas and the men from the medical corps examined Matthew right away. He had an open wound on his forehead where it had hit the icy ground, but the worst was still the the illness...

"I think, it's his...lungs." William said nervously. He hadn't told anyone about the strange encounter in the forest. "Pneumonia...like I said before." Thomas snapped at him, not appreciating William's uneducated opinion.

Sergeant Stevens scratched his head. "Right." was all he said. They had lost a good few soldiers to illness in the past weeks. Bullets and bayonets weren't the only hazard around here. "Best we send him down to Amiens." he decided at last.

William frowned. "Sir..." he hesitated. It was not his place to speak up, but he needed to try. "If I may..."

Stevens turned around and glared at him. William pulled himself up to his full height and held his gaze. "Captain Crawley is still officially on leave. Perhaps we ought to send him back home...for recovery."

Thomas stared at William with wide eyes, admiring the clodhopper's courage despite himself.

"Well..." Sergeant Stevens turned back to where Matthew lay, covered in sweat and crusted blood on his face. It was the ghastliest sight he'd seen since their last attack in September. And tonight was Christmas Eve. He'd hoped for a quiet one.

"Alright." he relented, glaring at the young Captain. "Fool shouldn't be here in the first place."

He barked at William. "Organise a transport."

Thomas jumped up. "I'll do it, Sir. I could assist on the track back." he volunteered, flashing his medical corps insignia. William just about managed to surpress a groan of disgust. Typical Thomas...

When William quickly packed up the few items Matthew had brought with him, he made a grab for the photograph on the table, but couldn't find it. "Unbelievable..." Thomas snorted as he held it up. William quickly snatched it out of the corporal's fingers.

While Thomas helped to carry Captain Crawley out to the transport on a stretcher, William returned to the bunker one last time and headed to the cot where Matthew had slept. Reaching under his pillow he pulled out a stack of letters, all tied together with a ribbon. No address or stamps. William packed them nevertheless.

Half an hour later, a medical transport headed north, with Private Mason, Corporal Barrow and their patient squeezed in the back together with five other injured soldiers.

Thomas stared grimly at Matthew's pale features. "He'll snuff it on the way..." he said, sounding more regretful than one would give him credit for.

"Shut up, will you? As if you care..." William shoved Thomas aside to open the first buttons of Matthew's uniform. The material of his shirt was drenched in cold sweat and clung to his skin. Thomas watched dubiously as William placed something in the pocket of it. He had seen Matthew pull it out when they arrived in the trenches, and now he put it back...

"I thought she's engaged to Napier...and he's got another girl." Thomas nodded at Matthew. O'Brien had kept him well informed about the goings-on at Downton Abbey. William merely shrugged. "None of our business, I'd say." he said resolutely as he buttoned Matthew back up. Thomas huffed, yearning for a cigarette.

"And I'd say I know more about Lady Mary's business than you do." he crowed, a smug smile on his handsome lips. William frowned at him. "Oh really? Like what?"

Thomas waited, throwing furtive glances at their company. No one seemed to pay attention to them, so he edged a little closer to William on the bench. "Grown up stuff...nothing you'd understand, I'm sure." he whispered casually.

William's frown deepened. He gazed worriedly at Matthew, who had drifted off into a restless slumber.

"If this is to do with any stupid rumours..." he hissed at Thomas and was greeted with a harsh laugh. "Oh, but it's not rumours, you see. Daisy knows too. I'm surprised she hasn't tattled the story to you yet." Thomas said, watching with some satisfaction as William's features escalated. "What?"

By the end of Thomas' whispered tale, William had turned quite as pale as their patient, who gave no sign of consciousness, except of the occasion flutter of an eyelid or the flexing of his fingers around his empty coat pocket...

A few hours later, the transport arrived in Calais. Tomorrow morning, they would be in Dover...


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Phew, finally managed to update. Thanks so so much for the wonderful reviews to the last chapter! You're all darlings :) So this week I give you Nurse!Mary and return of the M/M fluff, hope you enjoy ) **

**XXV. **

A car pulled up the front of Downton Abbey on the morning of the 25th December.

The family had gathered in the great hall for the traditional giving of presents to the staff. This year, however, it was a sombre and tense affair. Cora had to carefully school her features into a smile every time she handed a present to one of the maids or footmen, who deserved to have a cheerful Christmas, regardless of the unpleasant circumstances.

The proceedings were interrupted by the chime of the doorbell for the main entrance. Carson, who had just been about to unpack his own present, handed it quickly back to his Lordship. They exchanged a hopeful glance. Could it be? Have the girls returned?

Carson nearly knocked over one of the younger hallboys in his eagerness to answer the door.

His hopes were soon squashed when he found a short, broad man of about sixty years, standing outside in the fog. He was well-dressed and immediately took his hat off, revealing a tuft of sparse red hair.

Carson could not hide his disappointment, but when he heard the gentleman's name and harkened to his polite apology for interrupting a Christmas party, the butler bid him inside with genuine cordiality.

Everyone turned around when Carson led the stranger into the hall, "Mr. Reginald Swire, Milord."

* * *

At the same time, the three Crawley girls felt uncharacteristically dishevelled. The absence of a maid became painfully apparent when they tried to help each other dress and do their hair.

"Ouch. Are you mad?" Edith cried as Sybil accidentally jabbed a hairpin into her scalp. "I'm sorry. This always looks so easy when Anna does it." Sybil huffed. Next to them, Mary was pacing. "Well, hurry up." she snapped, wringing her hands. "We'll wear our hats anyways."

And hurry they did. Jack had of course invited them all to spend Christmas Day in his house with the family, but they had politely declined, thanking him for his hospitality instead.

Soon, the sisters found themselves more or less stranded by the sea. "You do know that tickets for a crossing actually cost money?" Tom said, even as he peeked into his own pockets.

Mary pressed her lips together in frustration. Of course they did not carry money, but that would not stop her now. "Here..." she pulled her gloves off and shoved then on Sybil. "Take my earrings." she unclipped them from her earlobes and held them out to Tom.

"Err...I'm not sure if the ferry company accepts jewellery." he eyed the gold and sapphire stones warily. Sybil squeezed his arm. „Couldn't you try and pawn them...I know you've done it before." she said softly, looking up at him pleadingly.

Tom sighed in exasperation. "Alright. I'll see what I can do." He pressed Sybil's hand. "And you stay together in the car. If anything's off, go to Jack in the pub." he admonished them, before kissing Sybil soundly on the lips. Mary and Edith turned away quickly.

The day was bitter cold, so Edith and Sybil did prefer to huddle together inside the car. Mary, on the other hand, could not bear to sit still and be idle. Despite Tom's warnings she wandered around the harbour, though never too far from the car.

There was the ferry that would bring them over to Calais...if only they could afford to board it. Mary chuckled bitterly at the realization that it was something as profane as money that held them up now, when she had never had to worry about money before, not one day of her life...

A steady cold gust from the open sea made her shudder and she pulled her coat tighter around herself. When she turned back to where the ferry was unloading, she saw two military trucks of the medical corps emerging from it...

Mary grimaced, imagining that they would probably be full of injured soldiers. Sybil had told her such ghastly stories about the hospitals where she had worked last autumn. Even if she did not think it quite the occupation for a lady, Mary had always admired Sybil's spirit in performing her nursing duties.

The two trucks halted a few feet away from her. Something untoward must have occured. Mary could hear the raised voices of the men, medical corps workers, shouting at one another.

"He's dead. We can't keep him in here with the others. Jameson got two more on the other transport. He's got time, we can bring him this one, too." Two men climbed out from the back of the truck, carrying a stretcher with a person on it, a blanket was thrown over the lifeless body.

Mary swallowed, meaning to turn away from the aweful sight. But then she caught a glimpse of one of the medical corps soldiers. Dark hair and a familiar, handsome face, sharp and well cut...

"Thomas?" Mary ran over to them without thinking. The man in question looked at her aghast, nearly letting go of his end of the stretcher. "Lady...Mary?" Thomas gasped, quickly glancing around to the open back of the truck. As if on cue, William Mason stuck his head out to see what the hold-up was.

"Shall we get a move on, then?" the colleague from the corps admonished Thomas. Their load was heavy enough. "Excuse me, Milady." Thomas apologized before moving away to bring the body to the next truck.

Mary's thoughts were reeling. Thomas...wasn't he stationed somewhere near Matthew's regiment? She distinctly recalled Matthew mentioning it once in one of those stiff, very formal conversations they had shared over the past two years. She turned to William then, not aware that he was also stationed in the medical corps. Carson had merely told her that their younger footman would be drafted in soon...

"Lady Mary...oh, dear..." William took his helmet off automatically. He was so used to showing respect to their lordships that it felt awkward standing out here with her like this...

"What are you doing here, Milady?" he finally asked. To his dismay, Thomas's distasteful words about Lady Mary came back to haunt him and he found it increasingly difficult to look her in the eye. His cheeks reddened.

Mary shook her head at the obvious question. "I hardly know...I wanted to..." And then it occured to her. Hadn't Papa said that he would try to get William into Matthew's regiment?

"William...have you seen...have you by any chance been in contact with Captain Crawley?" she implored him, taking a deliberate step closer to the young private. William blushed some more and scratched his chin. He didn't know whether to tell her or not...she might have a shock.

When he finally dared to meet her dark gaze, however, William suddenly remembered a day in 1914. Lady Mary and him were standing out by the stables, where he tended to her horse...

"_...she ought to spend some time with the people she loves." _

Mary had been the only one to tell him the truth about his mother's illness. She had encouraged him to go home and see her, when no one else had thought it a good idea. She had made sure that he would get to see his mother one last time, and that she could...pass away with him by her side.

Why would he even hesitate now?

"Actually...come with me...if you please, Milady." William motioned towards the open truck and Mary's fresh complexion blanched, though she willingly crawled up onto the dirty back of the truck with William's help...

* * *

"Daddy, what on earth are you doing here?" Lavinia cried in exasperation as her father guided her into the Downton library, away from prying eyes and open ears.

"Where is he? It's him I want to speak to...to give him a piece of my mind." Mr. Swire burst out. He was known to be a good-natured man, reasonable and docile, but in this instant he could not surpress his outrage.

"Matthew?" Lavinia gasped. "He...he's been called back to the front. Earlier than expected." she said stiffly. "Oh...I thought that had been a lie, too." her father declared. "When I spoke to him on the telephone last Tuesday, I thought everything he ever said or did was a lie."

Lavinia trembled. "What? He telephoned you?" She had to sit at this news. "He did...though obviously not from here, I can see now." Mr. Swire tried to reign in his temper. This would be hard enough for his daughter...

"He tells me...that he's been..._untrue_ to you. So to speak."

Instead of replying, Lavinia held a finger up to her lips to signal silence. Mrs. Hughes had just entered the room with a tray of tea and biscuits, Cora had asked her to serve to their guests. When she was gone, Lavinia jumped up again from her perch.

"What nonesense, Daddy...if he told you anything the like, he must be very confused." she huffed, moving towards the tea service. She poured herself a cup and picked it up. The china shook and rattled in her clammy fingers.

"Then you don't know anything." Mr. Swire countered. "He said very clearly that he has done wrong by you...in a very inappropriate form. And he's convinced that it might be for the best if you found someone else..." The elder man had expected to find surprise and shock in his daughter's reaction, but there was none.

Lavinia looked away, out of the window, at the vast stretch of land that belonged to Downton Abbey. She had already begun to picture her life here. With Matthew. She had been convinced that she could change his mind, change his heart...somehow. In his letter, he had repeated the same drivel that he'd already come out with on the night of the ball. Apologies, confessions, self-deprecating empty phrases...

"It's not fair." Lavinia said quietly. "He can't do this." She turned back to where her father sat. "Daddy, he can't do this, can he?"

Mr. Swire was at a loss. For four days now, he had debated with himself. He had waited for Lavinia to come back home on her own accord, to pour her heart out and accept the inevitable. No, it wasn't fair. But it was still the only right way...

"He never truly loved you, my angel. He told so me when I asked him. It wasn't his intention to hurt you, I'm sure, but he's done badly by you and there is no way I will allow it to continue. If you cling onto this, you will never be happy." Mr. Swire took a deep breath.

As much as he resented Matthew Crawley for treating his daughter thus, as much as he would like to bark at him some more, he could see that the young lawyer had done the right thing by telling the truth in the end...

Lavinia was clearly incapable of comprehending that she would have been rendered unhappy by the union.

"You can't marry a man who wants to be married to another." He concluded, rising from his seat to pull his daughter into his arms. Lavinia cried, but even through her tears she was still not entirely convinced that everything was lost...

...because one thing was clear: Lady Mary _would_ become Countess of Branksome and not Countess of Grantham. And that was a fact which would Matthew be forced to accept one way or another.

* * *

Meanwhile, this future Countess sat in the back corner of a military truck, holding Matthew's burning face between her cool hands. "Matthew?" she had said his name in vain for a few minutes now, but he would not open his eyes, though she could see the bluish lids flutter and move. The sound of his rattling breath was distressing...

"He smiles." William observed over her shoulder. Mary saw it, too. Perhaps he had a good dream. "Matthew, my darling...you'll hold on, won't you. You're almost home." Mary said, her fingers gliding over the filthy bandage that covered his forehead. "What happened to his head?" she threw at William. "He fell...while he was on a patrol. We should have sent him home days ago, but he wanted to do his duty..."

Mary shook her head, as sudden anger overcame her. She remembered Isobel's words. How petulant, how terribly stubborn Matthew could be...

"Idiot." she growled and pressed a fierce kiss to his brow underneath the bandage. When she pulled back, pale blue eyes stared up at her. He blinked, though it seemed to cost him strength.

"Mary..." the name broke from his lips roughly and was followed by a fit of horrible coughing. "Yes...I'm here." she said quickly, trying to sound strong and reassuring instead of weepy.

"Why are you here...I saw you..." he wheezed and a deep frown creased his brow. Mary glanced at William in concern.

"...followed you...you're so stupid, why'd you come?" Matthew went on and it sounded like a scolding. "You _followed_ me?" Mary whispered, shaking her head in bewilderment.

"He's delirious, Milady..it's the fever." William reminded her gently. Mary understood, and tried to calm Matthew. It would not do for him to get agitated in his condition.

"...and no coat on...so stupid..." Matthew ranted still, though his voice drifted off into more coughs.

"Shhh...yes, stupid. I was very stupid..." Mary smiled down at him, caressing his cheeks that were grimy and slick from several layers of cold sweat.

She looked around, then pulled her own handkerchief out to clean him up a little at least. It was then that she heard the motor roar back to life underneath them. Corporal Barrow came up behind her. "We're driving off. Milady, I'm afraid you need to leave." he said kindly, but firmly.

Mary ignored him.

William and Thomas looked at each other. "Branson's out there, with Lady Edith and Lady Sybil." Thomas said. "Well, let them follow. She could ride in here with us...why not?" William shrugged.

"She's not a nurse, that's why." Thomas hissed and was seconded by Morton, the leader of this transport. "Can't pick up randomers. This isn't a bleeding tram." he barked, meaning to pull on Mary's shoulder when she wouldn't react.

Both Thomas and William's hands shot out simultaneously to hold him off before he could lay a finger on Mary.

Finally, she stood and turned, fixing Morton with such a withering glare that the man took a step backwards. He'd never seen such an expression of blank fury on a female. "I'm staying with Captain Crawley. Now you had better go see that this track gets move on, hadn't you?" Mary said coldly, never blinking as she stared the bullyish man down.

When he did as he was told, Mary pulled on William's sleeve. "Please tell my sisters and Mr. Branson not to worry. They should follow us in the car. To London at least." Behind her, she could hear Matthew shift and when she looked, he had lifted his hand a little, searchingly...

Soon, the vehicles took off at a pace that Mary found maddeningly slow. Right now, she wouldn't have minded having Edith behind the steering wheel, who was known to be a 'speed fiend'. Because speed was crucial now. Speed would bring Matthew closer to a hospital. Mary stared with anguish at his greyish face and the rapid rise and fall of his chest...

Her poor darling Matthew who seemed to have drifted off, though his hand retained a weak grip on hers. Mary pressed it ever so often, only satisfied when she felt some weak pressure in response. He would make it...she didn't care what the others said or thought...he _had to_ make it...

The inside of the truck was dim and a sickly stench of blood and burned flesh hung in the air. Mary's stomach turned repeatedly, but she fought back any assault of sickness. Once again, she had to admire Sybil's capacity to deal with all this horror on a daily basis.

After two hours of driving, Mary had come to the conclusion that the worst of it was not the smell, but the pitiful wailing and moaning of the injured men, many of whom were crying out for their mothers...

Her fingers closed tighter around Matthew's hand.

* * *

"What do you mean there was an affair?" Robert exploded over his glass of brandy.

Since all three daughter's had gone on a 'surprise visit' to their relatives, the Flintshires in Scotland...or so was the official story at least when someone asked, Cora had decided to invite Mr. Swire and Lavinia to stay for Christmas dinner.

"He told me himself...well, not in so many words." Swire rumbled. They sat together in the small library, while the Ladies had gone on a long walk in the grounds. Tempers were still running high since the departure of the girls and Cora needed a distraction from her nagging worries...

"I don't believe a word of it." Evelyn snapped, nursing his own glass of liquor. "Mary would never..." He glared at Swire with utmost disgust. How dare he?

"I'm not casting accusations here. He merely told me that there was someone else in the picture." The older man held a placatory hand up and Robert sighed heavily. It had to come to this sooner or later...

"It's still a preposterous allegation!" Evelyn roared. After the scandalous events of the ball and the realization that Mary had been alone with Matthew at the Abbey on the night of the storm, it was only too easy to put two and two together and the mere idea made him sick...

"Be that as it may, I will take Lavinia home with me tomorrow, which means that the engagement is officially dissolved. My daughter need not be associated with the likes of Matthew Crawley, if this is his _true_ character." Swire drained his brandy in one go.

"I see. Perhaps we'll just leave it at that." Robert replied tersely, choosing to disregard the insult that was implied in Swire's speech. Matthew was his cousin and heir, but he could not condone to scandal, if this was indeed where this affair was headed...

He eyed Napier warily, who had stepped towards the window, silently watching the Ladies' progress on the grounds...

* * *

Mary sat next to William. "We're past Bromley." he informed her. "So we'll reach London soon. Thomas says...there might be trouble getting him into a hospital there."

"What?" Mary turned towards Corporal Barrow. "We're supposed to bring the injured men to the hospitals they are assigned to according to their regiment. That's how the system works. They can admit him for initial treament, but he can't stay there for long. The space is needed for the men registered in London." Thomas explained regretfully.

"But...bring him all the way up north? He won't make it!" Mary cried furiously and William agreed with her. "Doesn't look good...but what else can we do?" If there's one thing you learn in the army, it's that there are no compromises. Follow orders and don't cause trouble. They would never make exceptions for any individuals...

"How ridiculous." Mary spat, already mulling over their options. If he can't stay in a London hospital, they would simply have to find another solution...

She grabbed William's coat again. "Next time we stop, could you step out quickly and deliver a message to my sisters in the other car?" Mary pulled her fountain pen out of her fine silk purse. With some regret she ripped off a corner from the letter Matthew had left her, and started to write.

_This is taking too long, there'll be a hold up at the hospital. Drive ahead to No. 4 Eaton Square and get a doctor to come to the house immediately. Prepare a bedroom and wait for us. – Mary. _

Branson stared at the note, recognizing the address from his chauffeur days. "Your aunt's house?" he raised his eyebrows at Sybil who took the note out of his hand.

"Yes. The only question is, which doctor would come out tonight? On Christmas Day!" she groaned, wrecking her head for a solution. "The real question is, why on earth can't they bring him to a hospital? Isn't that what they're there for?" Edith sniffed, crossing her arms on the backseat.

"It's not that simple." Sybil sighed. "But...Mary's right. He won't make it if we drive all the way up to Yorkshire. We'll have to do what we can in London." she agreed and in her mind she tried to recollect everything that she had learned about pneumonia in her nurse's training...

...sadly, the main detail that she remembered would be that the mortality rate was rather high.

No. 4 Eaton Square was a handsome town house, not too far from the Grantham's own London residence. The girls had been in and out of their aunt's home since infancy and the servants usually recognized them on sight.

Tonight, however, Barnes the butler wanted to close the door again on instinct when he caught sight of Tom and two dishevelled looking ladies, who on second glance turned out to be the nieces of her Ladyship.

"You run see if you can find a doctor. Wait..." Sybil held Tom's arm. "Show them Aunt Rosamund's calling card. The address alone might exert some influence." She pulled one from a small table in the entrance hall.

Tom grimaced. The fact that Sybil was right, that rich people were privileged even when it came to medical aid, was rather disturbing...

Half an hour later, Sybil and Edith had prepared a guest bedroom upstairs and ordered Rosamund's staff to provide hot water, clean rags and sponges, and constant heating in the designated sick room.

It was all they could do and hopefully a doctor would provide what else was needed...

"What are you doing?" Sybil caught Edith's arm when the latter picked up the telephone in the Painswick's entrance hall. "I have to call home. They need to know where we are and what's happened." Edith said sternly. Outside, a large vehicle halted in front of the entrance.

Sybil nodded to Edith, who pressed the receiver piece against her ear. "Operator? Hello?" Edith frowned. "The lines are blocked or something..." All those stupid people making Christmas calls tonight!

The door opened and the sisters cleared the way for Thomas and William, who tried to steady Matthew on either side. Puffing and panting they managed to drag him up the stairs, with Sybil as their guide. Mary hurried behind. "What are you doing?" she asked Edith as she pulled off her coat for Barnes to take. "Trying to call home. But I can't get through..." Edith whined in frustration.

"Keep trying. We need Isobel here, if it's possible." she halted on the first step of the staircase. "Did you get a doctor?" she asked Edith. "He isn't coming." Tom answered her question as he stepped through the open door.

Barnes and Mrs. Stiles, Rosamund's housekeeper exchanged a nervous glance. Never had they had such frightful chaos in their house, much less when their mistress was away from home...

* * *

"Good God." Robert exclaimed. He quickly put the telephone back onto the small table and strode into the dining room, where the main course of roast fowl had just been carved.

No sooner had Robert repeated Edith's words on the telephone than everything burst into uproar. Isobel insisted on going down to London immediately, as Mary had rightly predicted. "I can't sit here and eat in peace." she shook her head. "Nor can we." Robert agreed.

Violet threw a regretful glance at the delicious treats on the dinner table. "What are you suggesting we do?" Cora wondered. For a moment she felt nothing but relief knowing that her daughters were all safe in their aunt's house in London. "You need not worry, my dear." Robert shook his head. "I will accompany Isobel to London and bring the girls back home. It'll get late, but that doesn't matter now." he decided.

"Are you sure that Mary will come?" Violet wondered idly. "What are you saying, Mama?" Rosamund said quickly, looking uneasily at Captain Napier, who sat at one corner of the table, his ears as red as his mess kit jacket. The cutlery in his tight fists cluttered onto the plate as he rose, throwing down his napkin.

"I'm coming with you." he announced. "I need to see Mary."

The three motors were crammed full to the brim as they took off. Lavinia was finally ready to go home with her father. Left all alone at home without the gentlemen and Isobel, Cora had insisted on joining them to see her daughters safe. Rosamund felt the necessity to return to her house, given that all the drama took place under her roof now. And Violet, though lamenting the loss of an excellent Christmas dinner, did not relish the prospect of spending Christmas all alone at Downton...

And so it happened that on Christmas 1917, the staff of Downton Abbey were served a delicious five course dinner downstairs and only Mrs. Patmore complained when she saw her masterful creations disappear into the greedy mouths of young hallboys and scullery maids...

* * *

While Edith tried to calm down Rosamund's staff and Tom had been joined by William and Thomas in hunting down a doctor at this hour, Mary and Sybil proceeded to clean up their patient who lay prone on aunt Rosamund's guest bed, the fine sheets of which were undoubtably ruined forever.

"What's with his forehead?" Sybil whispered as she pulled off the dirty bandage. "He fell, apparently." Mary shrugged, whilst trying in vain to pull the boots off Matthew's feet. They must have been glued onto his soles, she thought, because they wouldn't budge an inch.

"Oh my...it needs stitching." Sybil deduced once she had examined and cleaned the wound. Mary left the boots alone, William or Thomas could do that later. "But it's not dangerous?" she gasped as she took in the gash over Matthew's brow. "No..." Sybil said quietly. "...the fever is. If we can't get it down, Mary..." she refrained from finishing the sentence.

"I'll get some more boiled water. You take off his shirt and try to clean him with this..." she instructed Mary and held out a rag, then left her to the grim task. Sybil knew that it may not be fair on her elder sister, but if Mary wanted to play nurse, she had to face the reality of it.

Once alone in the room, Mary took a deep breath. She could do this. Of course she could do this...

The state of Matthew, apart from his illness, was unfathomable to her. He'd left them no more than a few days ago, when he'd still been clean and his clothes impeccable. Was this what life in the trenches did to them? His appearance was inhumane, all covered in mud and dirt, his hair matted and grimy, you could barely make out its golden colour.

Not to mention the smell. Mary shook her head and braced herself. If it wasn't _Matthew_, she wasn't so sure if she _could_ bear this...

Her nimble fingers flew to open all buttons on his shirt. With Sybil's help she had already ridded him of the heavy coat and uniform. The green material of the shirt had darkened and clung to him like a second skin. Carefully, Mary began to peel it off, when something caught her eye...

A square card in his breast pocket. Gingerly, she pulled the photograph out and gasped. Where on earth did he take this from? She had had it taken last season in London, on Evelyn's bidding.

"It's...mine." Matthew startled her. His winded voice sounded ghostly. She hadn't noticed that he'd been watching her for a while. "Matthew." Tears came to her eyes, despite her best efforts to stay strong. How sadly he regarded her now...

"I'm so sorry..." he panted, ringing for air. "Shhh. Don't speak." Mary whispered as the tears finally fell. "Don't strain yourself. The doctor will be here any minute." Pulling herself together, she laid the photograph down on the mahogany bedside table. Matthew's eyes followed it slowly, then dragged back to Mary's actual face. "I'm sorry..." he repeated weakly. She frowned.

"What I said...on that night..." he started coughing. Mary quickly took the glass of water Sybil had left them with and held it to Matthew's lips. He tried to drink, but the coughing wouldn't cease. His face turned red and the gash on his forehead started to bleed again from the force.

"Prop his head up!" Sybil called from the door as she returned with another bucket of hot water. They stuck another pillow under Matthew's head, but the coughing continued for a few minutes. The sisters quietly went to work, cleaning and dressing him in pyjamas that were already soaked with sweat shortly after touching his skin. Sybil watched their patient with quiet concern.

Matthew smiled up at Mary serenely, but somehow his eyes could never quite focus...

"Mary...this is bad. We really need a doctor." Sybil felt his forehead again, gauging the temperature. "The fever keeps rising..." Mary bit back tears of pure despair. There _was_ no goddamn doctor on duty tonight. Everyone was home for Christmas.

She had hoped that Sybil would know what to do, but of course this was not what she had learned in her training and she was clearly out of her depth here...

Mary reached into the cleavage of her dress. "What's that?" Sybil wondered, squinting at the item curiously. Matthew, however, recognized it on the spot. Mary placed it into his trembling hand and he sighed as his fingers closed around the toy.

"You're safe now...you're safe and you'll stay with me." she whispered softly. A tremulous smile was all he managed in reply, as his shortened breath would not allow the forming of words. "You'll stay with me." she repeated, pressing a kiss to his chin.

Matthew's tired eyes never left hers and as long as he could see Mary's lovely face above him, he had no intention of going anywhere...


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Big chapter, guys! Once again, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and messages, each and every one is precious to me :) I don't want to give anything away, so I'll just say enjoy ;) **

* * *

**XXVI.**

The three cars reached No. 4 Eaton Square very late into the night. Mary knew about the hubbub going on downstairs, but it never even occured to her to leave Matthew's side. His stiff fingers were curled around her hand in a silent bid to stay close and Mary would not stir for anything.

From the open door, she could distinctly hear her father's voice booming through the walls of the Georgian town house: "Of all the idiotic, childish, irresponsible things you three ever did...this just takes the cake!" Mary winced, feeling guilty for letting her sisters fend for themselves in the storm of their parents' wrath.

"Golly." A harrassed-looking Sybil returned to the room, shutting the door behind her. "Papa's going berserk downstairs."

Mary glanced briefly over her shoulder. "I'm sorry. He ought to pounce on me instead of you." she smiled regretfully at her youngest sister. "Oh but it was my idea in the first place, don't forget that." Sybil said with a hint of pride.

A moment later, the door burst wide open and Isobel bustled inside. "How is he?" she looked at Mary with an unfathomable expression. Of all the people to tend to her son, she had not cast Mary as the one to play nurse.

"Not good. Thank God you're here." Mary burst out. Isobel would know what to do, she was sure of it. So she quickly made way for Matthew's mother, who immediately measured his temperature and his pulse.

"We can't find a doctor who's available at this hour." Sybil complained, wringing her hands.

Isobel's expression changed from intense worry to fierce determination. "Well, we'll see about that!" she huffed. "I need to make a telephone call." They had no time to lose. "A friend of my late husband's, also a doctor, who resides not too far from here. I dare say, he won't be anywhere but at home tonight."

While Isobel placed her call, Mary sat back down on the edge of the bed and continued to sweep Matthew's face and neck with the wet cloth. It was all she could do to give him a spot of relief.

Sybil watched her for a while, until they could hear Robert's voice through the open door again.

"Oh dear...perhaps I should go and make sure that he doesn't get his fingers around Tom's neck. Do you mind if I leave you for a minute?" Mary only smiled and nodded towards the door. "Go."

Mary was glad for a few minutes alone with Matthew. There was so much on her mind, so much she desperately wanted to tell him now. Most of all, she wanted to make him forget all the awful words she had thrown at him during their fight. Knowing Matthew, he'd probably saved each and every comment of hers in his elephantine brain...

And now he believed all the wrong truths, clueless that he was the one she loved, the one she wanted to marry...

"Matthew?" the door burst open once again. This time, Mary turned around in blank horror when she perceived the rustling of a fine silk dress and the sheepish voice of Lavinia. The girl's pale features were flecked with hectic dots and her plump rosy mouth was pinched.

Without any sign of acknowledgement for Mary, Lavinia went over to the other side of Matthew's bed. Mary shook slightly, realizing that she ought to make way for her. Of course, this was Lavinia's rightful place as his fiancée, Mary thought bitterly and with a pang of regret she pulled her hand out of Matthew's grasp.

"Shouldn't you go to your own fiancée downstairs?" Lavinia snapped and took Matthew's other hand possessively. She pressed it, then quickly withdrew, shocked at the cold and clammy feel of it. Only half conscious and confused, Matthew turned his head slightly aside to where Lavinia stood and startled. As a result, he began to cough again.

"Shhh...it's alright." Mary said soothingly, helping him sit up a little more to ease the convulsions.

"What's wrong with him?" Lavinia cried anxiously, though she could not bring herself to touch Matthew again. His reaction had put her off. To answer her question, Isobel waltzed back into the room. „Pneumonia, dear. Isn't it obvious?" she said to Lavinia, then turned to Mary.

"Dr. Donaldson is on his way." Mary nearly fainted with relief. "Could I speak to you for a moment?" Isobel pulled on her elbow urgingly.

Reluctantly, Mary left the bed and followed Isobel outside into the corridor, so Lavinia was left to stare at Matthew's suffering in helpless confusion. She didn't know what to do and the whole situation unnerved her. Matthew had calmed down a little, but she was afraid of his volatile condition. And what a ghastly sight he was! Unkempt and sweaty, his skin as ghostly white as the bandage around his head.

Why, his skin was almost taking on a bluish hue!

"Your fiancé is here as well." Isobel whispered outside. "I know. Lavinia said." Mary replied calmly. "Oh...well, I just...I'd rather not have him in the room with Matthew. I fear, it may agitate him. His condition would only worsen if he gets upset..." Isobel said, but not unkindly. She was already beyond astonishment to have found Mary Crawley by her son's side, caring for him as competently as any nurse.

"He won't." Mary assured her quickly. "I'll go talk to Evelyn...I think, I need to anyways." she fumbled nervously along her neckline. "Yes, you do." Isobel agreed and pressed Mary's hand. A sign of understanding and gratitude."Thank you for tending to Matthew...I could not have done it better." she said. Mary shrugged. "It's nothing." But to Isobel it was the very opposite of nothing...

Out of nowhere, a blood-curdling shriek made them jump and they quickly hurried back into the bedroom.

Lavinia had only tried to talk some sense into Matthew, to remind him that she would be there for him, once Mary was gone. "I don't care what you did. It's fine. We'll never talk of it again." she had whispered, sitting in the place where Mary had sat before. Matthew made no response, he kept spying past Lavinia, through the open door...

"I hold no grudge, not against you. And if you tell me that it won't happen again, I'll believe you." she smiled tensely.

Lavinia braced herself and took Matthew's clammy hand, despite her discomfort. Sighing, she looked aside and found the photograph laying on the bedside table. "Matthew, this is mad..." she hissed angrily, frustrated tears were running down her nose.

Matthew began to cough again, still staring at the door. "You know Mary's fiancée is waiting for her downstairs to bring her back to Downton. But _I_ can stay here and take care of you._ I_ won't desert you." Lavinia said firmly.

Her words finally got Matthew's full attention, though not in a positive manner. Tears slowly clouded his glassy eyes, as he tried to speak. Lavinia helped him sit up as she had seen Mary do when the coughing grew more violent. And suddenly there was blood...

Lavinia screamed.

When Isobel and Mary rushed in, Lavinia had jumped up from the bed. "He's coughing blood." she wailed, covering her mouth in terror. "Is that normal? Perhaps it's not pneumonia...perhaps it's this epidemic!" Lavinia took another step backwards, then frowned when she was shoved out of the way by Lady Mary.

"Don't be stupid." Mary muttered in plain annoyance, stroking over Matthew's hair to calm his gasping and coughing.

"Shhh...breathe in slowly." she held him up a little. To Mary's surprise and consternation Matthew pulled away from her touch, at least as much as he could manage in his weakened state. She whispered his name, but he stubbornly tried to ignore her. Mary glared at Lavinia, wondering what the girl might have said to upset Matthew...

When he calmed a little, Isobel picked up a rag and cleaned Matthew's face. There was indeed a drop of blood or two hanging onto his lips, but nothing that would warrant such a hysterical reaction.

"The doctor's here." Someoe announced from the doorway. It was Evelyn. Matthew stared at the other man, then at Mary, who threw her fiancé a reluctant smile.

Instinctively, Matthew's hand shot out to recapture Mary's and he held it to his chest.

But only a moment later, he seemed to grapple with himself, pulled back and shifted away from the very sight of Mary. Isobel watched the scene with fascination and unease. As she had predicted, Matthew became agitated and his ragged breathing swiftly went over into stronger convulsions. His lungs were worn out.

This was definitely not right the time for any of this nonesense...

At last, Matthew's stomach reacted. "Lavinia, hand me the basin on the wash-stand over there! Quickly!" Isobel called to the young girl, but to no avail. She had to fetch it herself, while Lavinia stood rooted to the spot and watched in abject horror as Mary held Matthew's head and stroked soothing circles over his back while he was being sick.

"It's alright. It's perfectly alright." she said gently. To Matthew, his humiliation was complete when he layed back down and saw Mary above him, her beautiful face so calm and collected, even as she dabbed at his soiled lips with a rag.

Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew observed her fiancé looming in the background, watching them with distate.

"Mrs. Crawley. I came over as soon as I received your call." At long last, Dr. Donaldson appeared on the scene, pushing Evelyn and Lavinia out of the way to reach his patient. Reginald Crawley's son.

Due to the late hour, the physician made a rather unkempt and groggy impression. Clearly, they had rung him out of bed. There was also a faint whiff of brandy about him, which was of course excusable considering that it Christmas night.

"Please clear the bed, Miss." he addressed Mary. Isobel threw her a pleading look, silently asking to make way without a fuss. "Come, Mary. I need to talk to you." Evelyn stepped towards her, gently taking her arm. Mary wanted to protest, but when she tried to squeeze Matthew's hand again and he ignored her, she pressed her lips together in frustration.

"You may go." Isobel said kindly. "Lavinia's here to help us, won't you, dear?" Matthew's mother smiled tightly at the girl who had wanted to become her daughter-in-law. "I..." Lavinia pressed out, her fingers still covering her mouth. "I'd rather go...this is too much." She shook her head vehemently and dashed from the room.

Mary glared after her, scandalised. And this woman would become Matthew's wife?

Evelyn pulled on her hand and with one last look at Matthew, who stubbornly kept his back turned to her, Mary followed him downstairs. In the drawing room, despite the ungodly hour, the family was still up and arguing. Thomas and William would have to report back to headquaters, but not before they knew the doctor's verdict.

"Can we talk in private somewhere?" Evelyn steered Mary away from the crowded room. "Of course." she whispered, feeling another knot of dread growing in her stomach. Her worry for Matthew had overshadowed the guilt that she felt over Evelyn, up until know.

In the Painswick's small library, Evelyn made Mary sit down in one of the large stuffed chairs and settled on the footstool in front of her. He took both her hands into his.

"Mary, is there anything you would like to tell me?" Evelyn asked. His request sounded neither angry nor resentful, his hands weren't trembling and his face was smooth, almost impassable. Mary didn't know what do make of his nonchalance. She had expected him to be more affected...

...or perhaps she had merely compared this scenario with the ones she had shared with Matthew, who got considerably more fired up, just as much as she did, in such situations.

Mary cleared her throat and nodded earnestly. "Yes."

"Quite so." Evelyn nodded and let go of her hands. Finally, Mary dared to meet his gaze. "Be honest with me. That's all I ask of you, Mary. Please just be honest with...all of us." He took a deep breath, forcing his mouth to form the next words...

"Do you love him?"

Again, Mary thought of the night when Matthew had asked the exact same question. Only that Evelyn seemed to be utterly resigned to her reply already. He spoke as if he knew the answer, as if he had accepted it, long before Mary herself had accepted it...

"I...do."

Evelyn nodded and smiled. "That's good." He meant it. "You deserve to marry the man you love. We're not all that fortunate, but you know how my general position on these matters..."

Mary opened her mouth to speak and he shushed her. "In 1913, I hadn't taken him serious at all...as a competitor." Evelyn chuckled bitterly at his own idiocy. "And you were much more interested in Kemal that night..."

Mary visibly flinched when the name fell, then quickly pressed Evelyn's hand, encouraging him to continue. Her dark secret that she ought to tell him...and Matthew. It would have to wait for another day...

"I mean, just looking at Crawley, I thought that plump..._puppyish_ middle-class lawyer couldn't stand a chance in hell to get so much as a smile out of you." They shared a wry smile over the irony. Back in those days, Mary had thought exactly the same.

"But there was...there_ is_ something between you and him that...just escapes me...all of us. Can't explain it...it's like you're two halves of...I don't even know..." Evelyn broke off, staring at the carpet for a while.

Mary watched him in silent misery. Her fingernails dug into her palms until it hurt. She felt rotten for causing her friend, her _best_ friend so much pain...and at the same time she could barely keep still in her seat, wishing instead to be with Matthew, even now.

"I'd tried to ignore it for a long time...and I'm not blaming you." Evelyn said earnestly when he caught sight of her anguish. "The truth is, I should have known better, because it was already so plain to see in '14..." He rubbed both hands over his face. Mary's brows pulled together. "What?" she whispered.

Evelyn ruminated for an instant. At Lady Sybil's debut, when it had been blatantly obvious that Crawley had proposed to Mary and she was of a mind to accept him, Evelyn had watched them at the ball. He'd watched them dance closely together...he'd seen them locked together in one corner of the hall, talking and laughing together...

...one might have assumed they were flirting, but really, in retrospective, Evelyn realized that it had been much, much more. There had been two searching souls who found each other at last and nothing else had existed in that ballroom besides them...

Evelyn had watched them briefly and he'd begun to yearn for what they had. To be so close to someone that everyone and everything else plainly falls away. A month later, he and Luisa Semphill had decided to call off their engagement. It had been a great relief, giving him another chance to find that kind of love after all...

How could he have believed that he would find it in Mary? What had possessed him to claim that love, which he had witnessed between Mary and her cousin, for himself? Had he hoped that it would magically pass over onto him?

"What was plain in '14?" Mary prodded shakily. The nervous note in her speech escaped Evelyn entirely...

"At your sister's ball in London, you and him..." he paused. "...you don't even know how absurdly you behave together, do you?" Evelyn laughed quietly.

Mary cocked her head aside, even more confused.

"It's like...nothing else exists when you're together." Evelyn surpressed the urge to roll his eyes, a habit he'd picked up from Mary. "A bomb could detonate in the room, you two wouldn't notice." he quipped with a tense smile, then sighed.

It wasn't laughing matter, but he needed to make light of it, if only to alleviate some of the hurt and envy that his own words caused him.

"You're...his whole world...and I know he means the same to you." Evelyn declared at last and hung his head in defeat. "Matthew Crawley is your other half, Mary. It's him...not me."

Mary gave up stemming her tears. She wished that Evelyn wouldn't be so gracious about this, so good and kind. She'd much prefer it if he stormed and raged, or at least gave a small sign of proper resentment. Surely, he must feel it.

"So." Evelyn caught himself and looked back up to find Mary crying silently. "You're free to marry him." he smiled, then frowned when shook her head. The image of Lavinia holding Matthew's hand upstairs reminded her that matters were marginally more complicated.

"Matthew will marry Miss Swire." she scoffed, not sure whether she ought to discuss her own heartache with the man who had just released her so kindly and selflessly from her promise.

"No, he won't. Not according to her father..." Evelyn said matter-of-factly.

"I've no inkling what _exactly_ happened that night between you..." he faltered once more and blinked aside. "But it was sufficient to annul their engagement. Swire came to Downton because Crawley telephoned him, said he can't marry his daughter." he motioned towards the other room where the Swires and the Crawleys were still being offered drinks by Rosamund's overfatigued staff.

Mary's mouth fell open at this news.

Matthew had actually broken off the engagement! Against Lavinia's will, against all rules of propriety and convention, he had called it off. Why, this was scandalous! In a way, Evelyn must be right, Matthew and her were truly two halves of one improper mind...

"Thank you." Mary finally said, carefully touching the hand of the man who had nearly become her husband.

And he was without a doubt the best man she could have wished for...besides Matthew. Mary desperately wanted Evelyn to find the happiness he craved. For all his selflessness he deserved it, more than anyone else in this house...

"When you go back to..." Mary couldn't bear to speak of the place, considering the state of Matthew when he came back from there. "You have to be very careful. Promise me that, please. I know, I have no right to...but I'll still worry about you until this horrid war is over." Before Evelyn could respond, they were interrupted.

"There you are, Mary! The Swire's are taking their leave." Cora said, her American accent slurred from sheer exhaustion. "There you go." Evelyn chuckled good-naturedly, then helped Mary rise and gallantly offered her his arm as they walked back into the entrance hall.

Rosamund and Robert stood by the door to shake Swire's hand. When Lavinia saw Mary approach, she hastily turned away, feeling ashamed of her spineless conduct upstairs...though not merely enough to remain under this roof.

Mary was surprised to see Dr. Donaldson was also being helped into his coat. She let go of Evelyn's arm to needle the medical man. "What is it? Is he going to be alright?" The despair in Mary's voice arrested the old doctor. He pursed his wilted lips.

"Hard to say. He's not very strong, I'd say the trenches have taken their toll on his constitution." When he saw the rising panic in his interrogator, the doctor tried to retract. "I've given him something against the fever and the coughing, there's nothing else we can do for him now. We'll know more tomorrow..."

"Means he'll either survive the night, or he won't." Thomas whispered surlily, though everyone could hear his words loud and clear. Mary made to climb the stairs, but was held up by Cora. "You should get some sleep, dear. You've had quite an ordeal." she said worriedly.

"And you're absolutely sure it's pneumonia...not that ghastly epidemic that's going around these days?" Mr. Swire asked Dr. Donaldson. "The Spanish flu? No, it's definitely his lungs...otherwise all of us who'd been up in that room would belong into quarantine." the doctor said.

In a very unsubtle move, Lavinia shoved her father towards the door. Perhaps it was time they left.

Once the Swires, Evelyn and the doctor had gone, the Crawley's returned to the drawing room. "This is the second night that we all spend without a wink of sleep whatsoever...except for Mama." Rosamund commented when they found Violet nodding in one of the plush chairs.

Corporal Barrow meant to bid them goodnight as well, but when he looked for William, he could not find him. The young private had followed Lady Mary to the stairs.

"Milady, there is something here...I found it in Captain Crawley's belongings." he whispered and pressed the pack of unsent letters onto her. "What is it?" Mary hissed, impatient to go back up to Matthew. "I think...no, I'm _sure_ they are addressed to you." William stuttered. His ears turned scarlet. "He'd want you to have them."

"To..._Andromeda_." Mary gasped as she read out the heading of the first letter.

"I remembered when you told that story at dinner...I was there, you see, standing behind Captain Crawley when you talked of...err...a princess and a seamonster." William recalled, unable to hide a smile. She had probably hoped no one would remember her naughty comments, when they all did.

And of course, he knew a lot more about Lady Mary now...unless Thomas had told him lies. But then Daisy knew, too...

"Thank you, William." Mary said, pressing his arm. "And good luck. Try to be safe." she added, before she rushed back upstairs. When he left, William thought he had done his duty at least, all he could possibly do for Captain Crawley...

"Oh good, you're back! He's asked for you..." Isobel greeted Mary as soon as she entered the room.

Mary thought that Isobel looked like a woman twice her age. Then again, she herself hadn't graced a mirror in what felt like days.

"How is he now?" she whispered, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. Mary put the bundle of letters on the other side of the small table. Matthew seemed calm, but she could see his chest was still moving too fast, his breath still came in short quick bursts.

When he heard her voice, Matthew dragged his eyes open.

"The doctor's given him some medicine. I'm not sure what else we can do at this point...except wait." Isobel sat in a chair next to the bed. Mary bent down and pressed her lips to Matthew's ashen cheek, nevermind his mother was watching. It didn't matter anymore...nothing did, except Matthew's health.

After the odd display before, where he'd all but pushed her off his bedside, Mary feared that he was still mad at her. How to take care of him if he couldn't stand the sight of her? Even now, Matthew didn't smile, he merely gazed up at Mary, like he had done for the past few hours. His azure eyes were very glassy and darkened.

They were full of sadness, Mary only noticed it now. For a quater of an hour, they sat in silence and watched as Matthew's lids grew heavy and he finally drifted off into a fitful slumber. Isobel and Mary harkened to the ghastly wheezing that tore from his chest at every rapid draw of breath.

"Does he even want me here?" Mary whispered despondently to Isobel, who had also nearly fallen asleep in her chair.

"What?" the older woman regarded Mary with incredulity. "He seems upset with me. I don't know." Mary pointed out, causing Isobel to chuckle. "Well my dear, he's usually miffed at you about something or other..."

Mary did not find it very funny. Isobel sighed, then stood. "Don't take it to heart. I think he felt embarrassed that you saw him like this...and then your fiancé came in to take you away. It wasn't a very pleasant scenario, wouldn't you agree?" she eyed Mary closely, her tone a tad sharp now.

"He's not my fiancé anymore." Mary replied, challenging Isobel to make a flippant remark about _that_. "Oh my dear..." Isobel failed to conceal the relief that washed over her and Mary smiled understandingly. They both knew what it meant. Mary was free now.

Free for Matthew...if only he made it through this night.

They took turns changing the dressings and compresses on their patient. At last, shortly before five, Isobel felt her strength waning. She simply had to give in and find a place to rest.

"I trust you to stay with him. So I shall go and sleep for an hour, afterwards I'll take your place." she said, her speech muddled by lack of rest. Mary gave a sign of assent.

Now the only sounds in the room were the rattle of Matthew's laboured breathing and the rustle of Mary's skirts as she pulled herself fully up onto the fourposter bed. One after the other, she pulled her leather shoes off, letting them clutter to the floor.

Very carefully so as not to wake him, Mary crawled under the thick covers with Matthew, not caring if anyone came in and found her thus. _Honi soit qui mal y pense. _

Matthew didn't stir when she pressed herself against his side. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but that would surely put unnecessary pressure on his chest. So she was content to nestle into the crook of his shoulder and hand her hand on his arm instead.

Mary sighed softly as she buried her face against his neck. Matthew's hair and skin were still slightly moist from perspiration, but she didn't care and kissed the salty spot where she could feel his frightfully quick pulse. It was difficult to tell whether he was asleep or not.

Regardless, Mary began to speak...

"I just had to think of your face when I first saw you at Crawley House. Such a comical expression...like a fish out of water." she smiled against his skin. "And you were so silly. 'What a reception committee!' Poor Carson..." Mary snorted gently, feeling tears sting at these fond memories. "I saw you staring at me then...you were always staring at me."

She shifted a little and pulled her right leg up to rest over his knee. More contact. She needed as much of him as she could possibly get tonight. "Evelyn was right. Back then, I thought you'd be the last man I'd ever fall in love with." She shook her head against his shoulder. "I didn't want us to have the same interests...I didn't want you to ride horses or to look at architecture."

Another memory resonated in her mind then. Matthew had already felt it five years ago:

_...I'd have to know more about the princess and the sea monster in question. Perhaps they were well suited..._

Perhaps...they had both known in this precise moment, that they had found their mate. Mary closed her eyes and swallowed. "It scared me...how well suited we _were_. That you should be the one I'd been waiting for..."

Matthew's hand moved slightly and Mary took it in hers, interlacing their fingers. She gazed up to see if he was awake, but his eyes were still shut. Of course they had medicated, probably even sedated him, Mary determined.

They had given him up. The doctor, everyone downstairs...

She had seen it in their faces. It was the reason why she had received no reproach from her parents for running off, why Evelyn was being so incredibly kind to her, why Lavinia had left Matthew's side like the coward she was...

They all believed he would die.

Mary watched the clock on the mantlepiece of the fire place. It was a handsome room they occupied, tastefully and luxuriously furnished, with blue and golden wall papers and a sturdy bed made of cherry wood.

If she had accepted Matthew in 1914, they might have spent their wedding night in a room such as this...

"I wish I'd told you everything at Sybil's ball." she whispered roughly. "We were so close..." Evelyn's words came back to her and she realized how true they were. Matthew had told her the same on that horrid night last week. They were were like one being, like two halves who could never be whole without the other...

And what if she lost him tonight? What if she loses that other piece of herself...irretrievably?

"Don't leave me, Matthew." Mary moaned in despair, rubbing her nose against the stubble under his chin.

"I promise, I'll tell you everything. I'll stop running away from you...I'll accept you..._us_...but please, my darling, please stay with me!" she kissed the reddened spot on his neck and whispered softly,

"We'll be married, my darling..."

Their entwined hands rested on his belly and for a moment Mary thought she felt his fingers flex to hold onto hers. She sniffed and cleared her throat, feeling abominably weak and helpless. Matthew's crest-fallen face on the night of their fight came back to her. His own helpless pleas for her to change her mind, to be with him, to love and marry him...on any terms, rung in Mary's ears.

"I won't turn away again, my darling. It's been enough. Enough hurt and confusion and...scandal."

Mary nuzzled deeper into his neck, inhaling his masculine scent that she loved so much. It gave her strength. If only she could give this strength to Matthew now. This harrowing war had wrecked him, mentally...and now physically as well. How badly she had wanted to keep him safe...

...and she'd failed, through her own pride and lack of faith.

She had underestimated how much Matthew needed her, and how much she needed him. "It was that night, wasn't it?" Mary murmured. "When you sat outside...you got sick that night." On that accursed bench!

Tears sprang to her eyes once more as she recalled what else had occured that night...

Matthew's heated kisses, the delicious pressure of his body on top of hers, his words of love and desire lilted into her ear...and then his passionate release. How sweet and bashful Matthew had been, how intense his loving touch...

A shiver ran through Mary's frame and she felt ashamed of herself for harbouring _such_ thoughts at a moment like this. Perhaps she was what Edith had called her...

Would Matthew think so if...no..._when_ she told him about Kemal?

"I'll tell you the truth, Matthew. The whole truth. And if you despise me then..." she broke off, not even wanting to contemplate it. She didn't have a clue what she would do then? If Matthew turned away in disgust and despised her for the rest of their lives...

"Mary...you're wanted downstairs." It was Isobel who slowly made her way back into the room. What Mary didn't know was that Isobel had watched her from the doorframe for a few seconds. She didn't know what 'truth' Mary was talking about, but she did know that Matthew would never despise her for anything...

Mary could do no wrong in Matthew's eyes...and for the very first time Isobel began to comprehend why her son was so unconditionally besotted with this young woman.

The contrast between Mary's doting care and Lavinia's hasty escape had been disturbingly stark. Lavinia Swire had disappointed Isobel in every conceivable way. She had thought her a sweet girl, who would make a sweet and loving wife, even if she was not exactly Matthew's ideal mate. To Isobel, the events of tonight had adequately pointed out who that person was...

"What's going on?" Mary sat up, refusing to pull away from Matthew entirely. "It's Sybil...and Mr. Branson. I fear your father is about to have a stroke if he doesn't calm down...and I'm not sure I can get Dr. Donaldson on the telephone again tonight."

"Oh for God's sake." Mary rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. "I've had some rest. You can go if you want to." Isobel said kindly, pulling up a chair on the other side of the bed. "But please don't stay away long...he knows when you're not there." she added worriedly, pointing at Matthew, who still fought for every gasp of air.

Mary hesitated, she could hear raised voices from downstairs again. By any reckoning the entire neighbourhood of Eaton Square would know their business by now. Luckily, most of their neighbours were in the country for Christmas.

She hated to leave Matthew's side again, but Sybil was in trouble and she could not desert her sister, much less when Sybil had supported her so bravely in the past three days. "Alright. I'll be back in a moment...come quickly if something is wrong." Isobel promised she would.

Downstairs, Mary found her parents, Rosamund, Edith and the couple in question. Violet had retreated to Grantham House down the street. Carson had ordered Mrs. Blunt, the housekeeper of the Grantham London residence, to open up the house via telephone.

"Out of the question!" Robert roared. His face had indeed taken on a rather unhealthy shade of red. "Papa, please." Mary sighed heavily as she entered. This distracted Robert momentarily form his outrage. "How is he?" he inquired, his voice dropping to a surprisingly gentle tenor. "Bad. Obviously. And you're not making it better by shouting your heads off down here." Mary accused them.

"I agree." Cora said, nearly swaying on her two feet as she held onto Robert's arm. She had not slept properly in days, due to constant worry, first for her children's wellfare and now for the future of her family. "Let's call it a night, please."

"Well, I'll go find a hotel then." Tom decided, glowering at Robert. "Nonesense. You'll stay in a guest room." Sybil cried indignantly. "Won't he, Aunt Rosamund?" she turned towards her aunt, who seemed easy prey at this late hour. Like Cora, she had about reached her limit of endurance.

"He won't stay under my roof!" Robert exclaimed immediately. "It's not your roof!" Sybil bristled.

Robert's mouth fell open. He didn't know what to do anymore. Sybil had always been wild, but this was beyond his worst nightmares of what could possibly befall his daughters...

"Sybil, I won't argue with you on this, because there is nothing to argue about! You cannot and you will not throw yourself away on a...on a..."

"...journalist." Tom finished drily, toasting Robert with the glass of brandy Barnes had offered him before. Lord Grantham ignored his cheek.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." he warned Sybil. "Can you see yourself living in a dingy flat, god-knows-where in Ireland? Dawdling your life away as the wife of a Sinn Féin socialist paper boy?"

They all expected Tom and Sybil to blow up at this insult. But Robert's words had triggered off something inside Mary and only Rosamund could guess what it might be...

"Do you have any idea..._any_ idea at all how wrong you are?" Mary snapped at her father. "What do you expect her to do? Break it off with Tom and marry one of the few _heirs_ who have not been blown to smithereens yet?"

Her voice shook with rage. "Larry Grey, perhaps? So she can '_dawdle her life away'_ at his side, hating and regretting each and every decision she had ever made? Because she had been too weak or too scared to make up her own mind or stand up to others..."

"Mary, darling...calm down." Cora stepped towards her. "No!" Mary turned on her mother now. "You know what I did! You know what it had cost me!" Cora blanched and halted before she could touch Mary.

"If Matthew dies...it's been too late for me. But Sybil mustn't make my mistakes. He's a good man, I can vouch for that." Mary threw her arm out towards Tom, who merely gaped at her outburst. "And he'll love and take care of Sybil as she deserves. That's all you should ask for."

And that was all Mary would say on this matter. Six pairs of eyes followed her as she turned on her heel and left. Climbing back up the stairs, Mary felt oddly unburdened. Matthew would have been proud of her speech, she thought.

Isobel smiled with relief when she saw Mary enter. "You were missed." Which was an understatement. About a minute after Mary had left the bed, Matthew had whispered her name. And he hadn't stopped until they heard the soft padding of her feet, announcing Mary's return.

"Oh my darling." Mary quickly leaned over and kissed his forehead, then straightened the fresh bandage. A single tear slipped from Matthew's eye as he felt the balm of Mary's cool lips on his feverish brow. He smiled faintly.

Mary came back...she had not left him. With all his strength Matthew pulled on Mary's arm, signalling without words that she should lay beside him again. "The coughing has stopped." Mary noted with satisfaction. She wondered why Isobel's brows were still knit together. Wasn't it a good sign?

"Yes." Isobel said distractedly and Mary saw her pack away a stetoscope that she had borrowed from Dr. Donaldson after a lengthy debate. Isobel had seen too many cases of pneumonia in her lifetime. Only one had ended well.

Matthew was terribly weak and...obviously delirious from the fever.

As soon as Mary had gone downstairs, Matthew had turned towards Isobel with a beatific smile and announced in his ghostly voice "Mother...Mary and I are getting married soon." In his excitement, he'd nearly stopped breathing altogether and Isobel had to administer more medicine, fighting with her tears.

She had refrained from mentioning the delusional episode to Mary...

"I'll get more water." Isobel said quietly. As strong and professional as she could be when it came to nursing others, Isobel could not endure the sight of her only son withering away in a bed for long. If he already fantasized about phantom marriages, it must be a sign of decline...

The house was silent as everyone had finally left or gone to bed. Outside, snowflakes gently cascaded down from the sky, clearly visible in the eerie light of the lamp posts of the square. Isobel dragged her tired feet back upstairs, nearly stumbling on her way. Some of the water in the basin slopped over.

Matthew's room was quiet, too. Isobel saw Mary's shoes back on the floor and the woman herself laying tightly entwined with Matthew under the covers. His arm was wrapped around her body, holding it tightly against him. Even Mary's face was pressed into the side of his. They were fast asleep, Isobel thought.

She put the basin on the table. The sound of Matthew's lungs tore at her heart, though when she bent over and inspected him, it almost seemed as if a small smile was playing around his dry lips. Isobel wiped at her eyes and bit her lip against an oncoming sob. She didn't want to wake them.

If God wanted to take her boy tonight, at least he won't be miserable and alone when he goes...

Isobel closed the door behind herself and leaned heavily against it. She dreaded the moment when she would open it again in the morning, and what she would find behind it...

Five hours later, Mary awoke from the feeling of someone's fingers tenderly stroking her cheek. She couldn't rub her eyes, because both her arms were trapped in a tight embrace. And then something rough rubbed lovingly over her skin, before she was showered with gentle, if somewhat scratchy kisses.

"Good morning, my sweet darling." His voice still sounded cracked and winded, but it was strong. And lucid.

When she lifted her chin, Mary gazed straight into a pair of very pale, but also very clear blue eyes. They were shining at the sight of her. He blinked and licked his dry lips. All about him was still worse for the wear. But he lived...

"Oh Matthew." she breathed his name, barely audible. It was pure music to Matthew's ears.

"I thought you didn't want to see me again." he whispered accusingly, though Mary could see the crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Have you missed me a little?" His breathing grew a tad faster, half-swallowing his words. Mary wondered if he was still teasing...

"A _very_ little." she teased him in turn. When his blissful expression faltered, Mary pulled both arms free of their confinements to wrap around his neck. She didn't want to block his mouth when he already had trouble catching air, but nobody could prevent her from covering every inch of Matthew's precious face with her lips.

"Don't...you...ever...do...this...to...me...again." Every word was accentuated with a hearty kiss.

Matthew laughed madly, until it made him cough and Mary only stopped her caresses when she tasted salt on his cheeks. "Shhh..." she cooed and wiped away the traces. When he sobbed against her mouth, Mary happily allowed him to claim it at his own risk.

They kissed with a desperate urgency, a frantic need for more closeness. Both had to heave shuddering breaths when they caught air. Mary could feel Matthew tremble around her body, and when he required more of her lips, she halted his passion to make sure he was truly alright. Her cool fingers grazed over his forehead and she gasped with delight.

The fever was gone.

A moment later, Mary shrieked when she felt the touch of his fingers around her waist, slowly tickling her into senseless giggles. "Kiss me." Matthew demanded in a ragged voice and Mary complied only too happily.

This time, their loving caresses became deeper, heavier even as they claimed what should have been rightfully theirs four years ago. A kiss to seal this solemn vow - they belonged to each other at last and never again would they allow anyone or anything to take their darling, their precious other half away from them.

Mary had lived her life and Matthew his, and now it was time they lived them together. As one.

Isobel and Sybil stood in the middle of the room, the latter clutching a tray which shook slightly with the force of her supressed bursts of joy. They had been watching the couple for a few minutes now, undetected.

The lovers were too engrossed in their fierce kissing to notice anything going on around them at all...

* * *

**A/N: Sorry, ran away on the fluff-train towards the end, but well, I just love M/M happiness, so yeah :) Was asked how many chp. were still to come. This chapter could easily have been their happy ending, but I've got a couple of more chapters planned out for TeD and hope you're still interested to see what happens next. I want to bring them to the end of the war and of course the rating will go up again now that we got the two idiots properly together ;) Thanks for reading, dears, hope to update soon**!


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: First off, thank you so much for all the reviews! You're all darlings, truly :) Now, I'd say that this chapter is removing the last big obstacle for M/M (which was neither Lavinia, nor Evelyn) So happy times are on the horizon!**** Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy...**

**XXVII.**

Dr. Donaldson scratched the small patch of grey hair on his otherwise smooth bald head.

"Well..." he said, once he had finished his examination of Matthew. "Quite miraculous, I dare say." he rubbed two fingers over his moustache. "A...er...Christmas miracle, if you want." he rumbled out a chuckle. "Well, done my boy."

Matthew pulled one eyebrow up. It wasn't as if he had accomplished anything spectacular in getting over his illness. The people who had saved him, who brought him home and cared for him, they deserved praise, certainly not him. "Thank you." he whispered nevertheless, nodding towards the doctor who had known his father so well.

His mother opened the buttons of a fresh pair of pyjamas to help him change into them as the doctor left, still mildly dazed by this unexpected turn of events. He'd been certain that the young officer would pass away in the night, but he accepted happily that his diagnosis had proven false.

"Where's Mary?" Matthew asked his mother again. She had to leave his arms when the doctor arrived and he hadn't seen her since this morning. This wonderful morning, when they had kissed and teased each other until their audience had made itself known at last. Of course Sybil and Isobel had promised not to tell on them...

"I've no idea. Eating some breakfast, I hope." Isobel commented as she heaved her son up in bed to pull his soiled nightclothes off. The last time she had nursed him was when he'd had the measles at age nine. He'd always been such a healthy, jolly boy. Mary was right, it was the war that had taken the strength and the bloom out of him...

"Will she be back soon?" Matthew wondered, coughing into his hand. The doctor had said that his lungs would need some time to recover properly and the symptoms would not cease for a week or two. "I don't know, Matthew." Isobel replied, mildly unnerved. "Let her get some rest."

Matthew fell silent. His mother was right. Mary needed some time to herself, after everything he'd put her through in the past days. Everything still seemed fuzzy and unreal in his brain. The fever had made him delirious, but not unconscious.

He remembered seeing Mary in the trenches, then the concerned face of an enemy soldier. And finally a horrible trip on an army transport with Mason and Barrow...who had spoken of Mary...

...at which point, Matthew was not entirely sure whether he had dreamt it or whether the story he had overheard was the truth. Because it was simply unthinkable, wasn't it? At least, he would have thought so had it not been for the outrageous rumours he had heard already back in 1914.

Rumours about Mary's chastity and about the Turkish diplomat who died at Downton Abbey shortly after he himself had arrived there. The unkind story had circulated for a while in London circles, even Lavinia had mentioned it to Matthew once, but he had all but snapped at her that it was utter nonesense and she shouldn't pay attention to such idle gossip.

Now...Matthew wasn't so sure anymore. He'd distinctly heard Corporal Barrow, formerly first footman, recount how he had guided the Turk to Mary's bedroom door in person...

Of course it must be lies! Mary would never have allowed...or condoned to any...

But then, she had also touched Matthew on the night of the Christmas ball, hadn't she? Without hesitation or fear, she had pleasured him into madness...and oh, how wonderful it had been...

Matthew coughed and closed his eyes as a sweet wave of pain washed over him. Isobel left to fetch some broth. He had not been able to eat breakfast, but it was time he took in some sustenance.

Alone in his bed, Matthew fought with an onslaught of conflicting images...all involving Mary.

Barrow had said that it wasn't Mary's fault, as she had definitely not invited the Turk to her room, and so he'd resolved to blackmailing the footman into playing accomplice.

Had she been violated by the man then? The very idea made Matthew's blood boil with a wild helpless rage. He coughed again. If he had known...if he had been aware of the bastard's intentions, he'd have killed him before the deed...

Mary. She had enjoyed the Turk's attention, though. He remembered distinctly how he'd watched them that night at the dinner table, withering with jealousy. How he had envied the man, for the way he could charm Mary, for every word and smile that she had bestowed upon him...

...whereas Matthew himself still had to work hard on getting a civil word out of Mary, let alone a smile.

Mary had clearly taken a great fancy to the Turk that day...but had she been so blinded by the good looks and charming manner that she gave herself to him _freely_, without any thought of the future?

It was hard to believe...and it seemed so unlike Mary, who was usually more careful, more pragmatic in her thinking. A little too pragmatic in fact. No, it could not be, Matthew decided, there must have been more behind it.

If it was true at all...

"Isobel asked me to take you up some broth." Sybil interrupted his gloomy train of thoughts as she put the tray on the table next to the bed. A pack of letters fell from its edge down onto the bed. Matthew picked it up and coughed in fright as he realized what he was holding. How on earth did this get here?

Has Mary seen this? She must have...

"What's that?" Sybil asked casually as she put a napkin around Matthew's neck. "Nothing." he replied too quickly. "Looks like love letters." his youngest cousin grinned. "Something of the sort." he mumbled enigmatically, letting the pack wander under his pillow.

"Where's Mary?" he asked once more. Sybil's grin disappeared. She wasn't sure whether she ought to tell him, he might get the wrong impression. Then again, after what she had witnessed between them this morning, he may not...

"At the Branksome's house in Grosvenor Square." Sybil admitted at last, watching Matthew's reaction warily.

He said nothing and turned towards the window at the other side of the room. Only the thin line of his set mouth gave away what might have passed through his mind. Sybil didn't know what to say, because she wasn't sure what to make of Mary's absence herself. When they had caught her in Matthew's bed this morning, things seemed to be pretty much settled.

"I'm sure she'll be back any minute." As if on cue, Mary entered. Sybil smiled and hurried out to give the couple some privacy.

Mary felt like taking a nap. This morning had been beyond horrid and judging by the pinched face Matthew showed her now, this afternoon threatened to be equally exhausting...

...because it was time for the truth.

A note had arrived for her at breakfast. An invitation, not from Evelyn, but from his mother. Mary could imagine that Lady Branksome had not taken well to the news of her son's being thrown over by Lady Mary Crawley. The 'old dragon' – Granny's words – had never liked Mary in the first place and she in turn had not relished the prospect of having Eleanor Napier as a mother-in-law.

The encounter had been as nasty as Mary had feared. Evelyn stood in the corner of the room, quite helpless against his mother's sharp tongue. She demanded to know the exact reasons for the break-up and held Mary responsible, which was of course justified.

Apparently, Evelyn had told his parents that their 'differences' were to blame, but Lady Branksome was shrewd enough to recognize that her son was trying to protect his former fiancée. After the scandalous events at the Grantham's Christmas ball, it was not difficult to guess what or who was really behind this.

"You and your cousin have made quite a spectacle of yourselves. Of course...it's not the first time that you have become _tainted_ by suspicion." Eleanor Napier had sneered over her cup of tea.

The mention of Mary's tainted reputation reminded her of the second reason she had decided to see Evelyn on this particular morning. She owed him the same curtesy as Matthew. If one day her scandal should be made public, she wanted both of them know it from her own mouth, lest they should read it in the paper over breakfast...

And so, after enduring Evelyn's mother's taunting reproaches, Mary had entreated him for word in absolute private. Lady Branksome protested, but for the first time in his life, Evelyn had ignored his mother's wishes.

They had gone on a walk into a nearby park and there on a park bench, Mary had fully disclosed to him the circumstances of his friend Pamuk's early decease. Evelyn had been silent for a few minutes and Mary thought he might have gone into shock. She had considered leaving him on the bench to ponder her story on his own, but he woke up before she could stir.

Mary had expected him to be disgusted with her, as she feared Matthew would be, but Evelyn had been mostly digusted with his former diplomat friend...and with himself for bringing such a man to Downton Abbey, where he could have preyed upon Mary.

Evelyn had of course known about the rumours and kept them actively under wraps. But to have them confirmed by Mary after so many years was beyond hurtful. Part of him felt betrayed, not just in terms of infidelity, but the fact that he had been lied to for such a long time. He almost wished that she had said nothing to him, even now...

"Have you told..." he wondered then, and when Mary's features escalated into a blank expression of panic, he knew that Crawley was as clueless as he had been. And that this conversation was merely a rehearsal for a far more difficult one she would have to live through later...

To his surprise, Mary began to chuckle ruefully. "Just wait...by New Years, I'll have lost both of you and they'll ship me off to Italy or America to find a some steel tycoon who has no idea..." Her joke could not mask the terrible fear that she felt at the prospect of telling Matthew.

"Well, I'd have you know this..." Evelyn sighed and rubbed his broad forehead to clear it. "The only reason why I won't have you now is that you belong to another man...not this indiscretion that happened over half a decade ago...and for which I am to blame in part." he said resolutely.

Mary merely smiled. Evelyn and Matthew were very different in many aspects, and very much alike in others. How likely was it that Matthew would react with equal lenience?

Watching him in his bed now, his bright eyes shining with a mixture of longing and reproach, Mary felt her knees go weak. He'd waited for her all day, she knew. Perhaps she ought to have told him where she'd gone. Perhaps he'll wish she'd leave once she had finished her tale...

"Why did you go to him?" Matthew croaked, his voice still rough as sandpaper. He sounded gentler than the look in his eyes would have suggested. "I...had to talk to him...and his mother demanded an explanation why..." Suddenly it occured to Mary that nobody knew about Evelyn's generous offer to release her. Matthew thought she was still engaged!

"What did his mother want to know?" Matthew prodded, trying to sit up straighter. Mary stepped up to the bed to help him. Sitting down on the edge, she took Matthew's hand in hers and began to play with his fingers. Matthew smiled at the gesture despite his tense mood.

"I had to explain why I won't marry her son." Mary said, smiling at Matthew's adorable reaction. There it was again...that look on his face. Wide blue eyes, mouth agape. Like a little boy who had just been told he'd get a pony for his birthday. "What?"

"Well, what did you think after last night? That I'll marry Evelyn and you'll be my...mistress?" Mary had to laugh. Fear and nerves were starting to unravel her. Matthew joined into her laughter until he had to cough once more and cursed. She quickly poured him a glass of water from the decanter on the table.

"Oh my darling...I'm so happy, so happy I can't even...there are no words." Matthew whispered, once he could speak. He tried to pull Mary into his arms, but she would not come. No distractions, Mary told herself strictly. Then again, this may be the last moment she could enjoy in Matthew's embrace, feeling loved and not despised...

"Me too." she said brokenly, holding back the tears as she gave in and fell into his open arms. Matthew sighed contentedly as she sank against him, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

"My Mary..." he declared and kissed her hair. "Always." she sniffed, fighting off the tears with angry determination. She could not go to pieces now, even if she lost him...

Matthew was pleasantly surprised when Mary kissed him fiercely, so fiercely that it bordered on despair. "Was it very horrid then?" he wondered, imagining that Napier and his mother might have given her a hard time. If only she'd have said, he'd have come and stood by her. She did not have to do anything on her own ever again. From today on, they would face everything together...

"No." Mary said. "Well, his mother was horrid, yes...but..." she pulled herself up to sit more properly on the edge of his bed. Matthew kept an arm wrapped around her waist, unwilling to relinquish too much of her. "I'd just started to imagine that I'd have to go down to Napier's house and claim you there. Cousin Violet had called his mother a dragon the other day...so it would only have suited if I'd charged in to rescue my princess..." Matthew whispered. The besotted smile on his face drove Mary near despair and she covered her face with both hands...

"Darling, what's wrong?" he coughed with fright as he perceived her tears. What had happened? Had they threatened Mary...or had Napier done something to hurt her? "Tell me." he urged, one hand pulling at her arm to reveal her face to him.

"I can't tell you." Mary choked out, pulling herself quickly together. "It's too awful, I can't tell you." She shook her head and jumped from the bed, pacing the length of the room towards the window. Her chest felt constricted and she yearned for a breath of fresh air, but Matthew was still in danger of catching another draft, so she left the window shut and merely stared outside.

Matthew regarded her for a while, thinking hard. His suspicions from earlier this morning came flooding back. Something that Mary couldn't tell him...something awful...

"Tell me." he repeated softly as he continued to stare at her intently until she turned towards him. Her face was ashen and she shook her head slightly. "If I told you the truth, Matthew...you'd despise me...and that I could not bear." Even as Mary spoke, she wondered at the odd gleam in his eyes.

There was...a knowing look.

"Tell me." he urged for the third time, and his voice shook. He knew now that it was true. Everything that he had heard in London society, from Lavinia...everything that he had overheard, half delirious on that medical corps transport...it was all true.

All the rumours, all the gossip...

"You'll hate me when I tell you." Mary argued stubbornly, swallowing more and more tears, until she felt nauseaus. "We'll never be happy...you'll never want to see me again." her voice was barely above a whisper, but Matthew heard it quite clearly.

"Try me." he congratulated himself on his own abilty to stay calm in that instant. If he had not had his suspicions before, Matthew was sure he would have gone into shock. "We will always be honest with each other, Mary. Tell me the truth..." he tried one last time. He could see her whole frame was shaking and part of him just wanted to leap from the bed and pull Mary against him, to kiss her and tell her that she must not be afraid...but he needed her to be honest with him first.

"I've...I...have..." Mary drew in air between each whispered attempt. Her eyes filled with more tears and she was beginning to hyperventilate. Matthew's eyebrows contracted as he watched her struggle.

All of a sudden, he did not need to hear her say it out loud, if it pained her so very much. He did not need to subject her to this ordeal. If it was true, then Mary had carried this burden with her for five years and watching her torment now made him realize that she had been alone with this for a terribly long time. Alone and afraid.

And now he forced her to confess, when he could take the burden off her shoulders so easily...

"You have been with another man." Matthew whispered, biting back tears of his own. "The Turk... he came to your room, and...he died in your arms." He spoke out the words Mary could not.

For an instant, time stood still as they stared at each other for endless seconds...

Mary felt as if the room had turned upside down. Shaken to the core, she barely felt her legs as she bounded for the door. She could hear Matthew's anxious voice, calling after her, and then a thud.

He'd seen her run and Matthew's initial reaction was to get out of bed and hold her. Unfortunately, he had not considered how weak he still was due to his illness. The moment his feet hit the carpet, his wobbly legs gave way. Mortified, he cursed as he tried to pull himself up.

"Matthew." she came back and quickly helped him back up onto the bed. Matthew held her tightly, so she would not run. It had not been his intention to chase her away by taking the confession out of her mouth. "I'm sorry." he wheezed, his arms around her waist.

"Yes." she gasped, still numb with shock. "I just need a minute, please..." Mary plead, stroking over his tousled hair. Matthew frowned, but relinquished his hold around her middle when she asked him to. He'd never force her to stay, if she wished to leave...

Before either of them could say anything more on the matter, Robert stepped into the room, meaning to inquire after Matthew's health. What he saw then, however, arrested any fatherly impulse he had haboured hitherto.

"Mary...your mother wants to speak to you." he lied, not actually looking at his daughter who had pulled free from their cousin's arms. "And you'll sleep in Grantham House from now on." he added sternly. Mary didn't reply, neither with protest, nor assent.

Matthew glared at Robert after Mary had made her escape. "It's not what you think..." he began, but Robert held his hand up to shush him. "We'll talk about all that later." he said. "I merely wanted to know how you're faring...but I can see that you're quite well again." Robert nodded stiffly.

At any other time, Matthew would have cared to apologize to Robert and explain himself properly for his behaviour, but right now, all he wanted was to rush after Mary and console her, for she was obviously in shock.

Unfortunately, his condition would not allow it and so Matthew had to wait for Mary to come to him. And he waited patiently. All afternoon and all evening until he had to be put to sleep with a draft administed by his mother, who repeatedly asked what may be the matter. He would not tell.

Mary for her part, was cooped up in Grantham House, by a combination of her own shame and shock, and her parents demand that she should not 'add fuel to the fire' by making a show of her feelings for Matthew, when Evelyn was so clearly upset.

It was therefore time to confess to her family that Lady Mary Crawley was once more officially single...

She had know that the news would be unwelcome, but Mary had not expected her father to blow up at her as well. Robert had been in a state of helpless fury for three consecutive days now.

First his three daughters had run off with a chauffeur, whom his youngest intended to marry and then his eldest had been implicated in an affair with his heir. Next thing he knew, Edith would elope with a farmer!

Robert decided it was time he put a stop to all this nonesense. Once and for all. These may be a brave new world and it may never be what it had been before the war, but that was no reason to allow lose morals and anarchy to reign in his house.

"I can't tell you how disappointed I am, Mary. With both of you." Robert shook his head in disbelief. "To get so carried away...have you had no thoughts for your reputation?"

Mary gaped at her father. What did he know or suspect? "What you saw upstairs was not..." she started, but he interrupted her. "I'm not talking about that...but the night of the ball, when you two were alone. Swire told us everything...that Matthew had told him." Robert drifted off, his head, already reddened from anger, was becoming scarlet with mortification.

One did not usually talk to their children, let alone daughters, about _such_ things...

"Wait. What did Matthew tell Mr. Swire?" Mary frowned. She could not imagine that Matthew would have said anything of the sort, and to a complete stranger. "Well, Matthew confessed that he had been...'unfaithful' to Lavinia. And you two were alone that night...I know you were fighting in the end." Robert stammered, hastily making his way to the decanters to pour a tumbler of whiskey.

"Quite right. We had a fight. That's..." Mary hesitated. It would be a lie to say that nothing else had occured, but it was certainly not as bad as Swire had implied. "...almost all. We did nothing..._wrong._ Nothing that would qualify as an 'affair' for God's sake. Matthew is a gentleman, you know that very well. He would never have done anything to...spoil my virtue." This at least, was the truth and her father seemed to be convinced of the same.

Mary rubbed her gloved fingers over her temple. She was close to asking her father to pour her a drink as well. If she had to have anymore horrid conversations about her virtue or lack thereof, she would scream.

Robert regarded her for an instant as he took a few sips. "I see." he mumbled. "Well, Mary dear...the plain fact is that some people believe there might have been an...indiscretion." Mary huffed. If only he knew the whole truth, but telling her father about Kemal now would definitely take the last bit of strength out of her.

"Now Matthew's on the mend. I inquired again today. But for both your sakes, you should probably mind how you behave together from now on." Robert concluded, draining the amber liquid from the glass in his hand. He could see Mary was about to argue. "...only until we know there won't be anymore gossip about you going around."

Mary said nothing. Nothing would keep her away from Matthew...except perhaps the fact that he knew..._had known._..everything! She still felt queasy at the recollection of the scene yesterday. How on earth did he know? Who had told him? Edith?

No, she knew Edith would never do this. Not again anyways. But then who else would tell him, who else knew?

Another day passed, and from what she heard, Matthew had apparently put up a fuss and demanded to be transferred from the Painswick's to Grantham House. Mary took that to be a good sign...that he wanted to be where she was. More than anything, she wanted to see him, but at the same time, she could not endure to even contemplate what he was thinking now...of her story...of herself.

It was decided that Matthew would move over to Grantham House before New Years, which would give him time to recover sufficiently and allow for the worst rumours to be dispersed. They would invite acquaintances who could convinced themselves that Mary was indeed safe at home and nowhere near suspicion.

Evelyn Napier even came by for half an hour, if only to properly relay to his Lordship the reasons for his break with Mary, which he professed, had absolutely nothing to do with the ghastly gossip they had heard from Mr. Swire. Mary was so grateful, she could have embraced him. But that would certainly have defeated the object of the visit.

At No. 4 Eaton Square, the atmosphere was decidedly less light-hearted.

"Leave me alone!" Matthew grumbled. Isobel rolled her eyes exasperatedly. Where had she gone wrong with this boy, to have raised such a stubborn child?

"I'm not getting up, Mother!" He knew he was being silly, but since Mary had run off on him and never returned, he did not feel like doing much besides laying in bed and staring out of the window.

"You're being silly. Dr. Donaldson said you should rise and move around a little bit, it's not good for you to isolate yourself. Everyone is expecting to see you soon." Isobel pulled a face. "...and quite frankly, Matthew...you could do with a bath, because you are starting to smell." she told him mercilessly.

He made a dismissive sound and turned onto his side. What did he care if he smelled like a bear now that Mary would not come to him. Isobel huffed and left the room without further ado. There was no talking sense into him right now.

Matthew shifted restlessly, then threw the covers back, feeling overheated and anxious. His physical strength had been restored well enough over the past few days, but his spririts had sunk exponentially.

He felt so helpless. When he'd taken the words out of Mary's mouth, he'd thought that she would be relieved. Or at least encouraged to talk to him and unburden herself. Instead, he'd driven her away with his candour. And now he was left all alone to brood over Mary's secret...

So many moments, so many arguments and unfinished sentences...they all made perfect sense now.

His poor darling had wanted to tell him. So many times. He could see it now, but...why hadn't she said anything? It was a stupid question, really, he realized. Of course it was not the sort of secret one liked to tell, not even the person you love, or... particularly not the person you love.

Matthew turned his head aside to where he had propped up Mary's photograph again. And next to it was the bunch of unsent letters he had written to Mary for three years...a collection of confessions of his own. He shuddered. What if Mary ever read them? All the things this war had made him do...

What would she think of him then? Or was this what kept her away now? Fear that he would think differently of her, that his opinion of Mary had altered...that his love for her had changed?

He reached out for the photograph and pulled it close. "God." he whispered. "Don't you have any idea how much I love you?" he shook his head at the picture. Nothing would ever change that. No matter what she had done...

Of course, the idea that another man had touched her, had enjoyed her body was painful to the extreme. He'd be lying if he pretended not to care. No, he could not deny that the image of Mary in the arms of another man drove him half mad with jealousy...

...but then again, what was his stupid male pride to him compared to Mary's love? Nothing.

Still, he needed to ask her about it. To find out whether it had meant anything to her...whether she had been forced into it, or whether it had happened...out of love.

Matthew knew that the intimacies that, at least to him, were reserved for man and wife only, often occurred outside of matrimony. While he had contented himself to wait and look forward to the joys of a happy married life, many of his fellow soldiers had regularly sought the company of women who were definitely not their wives...

Love was obviously not a component in those trysts, which was why Matthew had not even considered joining them on their trips to the french brothels and other nocturnal haunts...

To him, there had to be love...real love...which he could only ever imagine having with one woman.

_Mary...his Mary..._

Why would she not see him now? If only she'd given him half a chance to tell her what he felt, she would have realized that he would never..._could _never despise her. And that despite his lack of sexual experience, he was not an 'innocent' either...

His eyes fixed on the letters again. Compared to what he had done in this war...what was her indiscretion against all the horrid acts he had committed? If only Mary knew, she would see that she need not hide her beautiful face from him. That she must never do so...because it hurt him more than anything that she may have done in the past.

Matthew wondered whether Mary had told Napier as well. How had he reacted? Perhaps he had reacted the way she had wanted...and now she's changed her mind and gone back to him!

He sat up a little, panting until sweat broke out on his forehead. Good thing Mother was downstairs, she would take this to be a relapse. From the window, he could hear there were visitors at the door downstairs.

Voices...female voice... and then someone rang the doorbell.

Matthew threw the covers off and got up so fast that he had to sit back down, too dizzy too move. Gathering all his strength, he pulled himself up to peek out from behind the curtain and there he detected the top of a familar-looking dark red hat at the entrance.

_Mary. _

She looked up at the window, as if she had felt his eyes burning into her. Matthew took two shaky steps away from the glass and settled back on his bed. There he remained for another few minutes, slightly bend over, trying to breathe normally.

Isobel found him thus. "Matthew. Are you alright?" she asked anxiously, bringing in the tray with his afternoon tea and medicine. Matthew sat up straight, then turned around to face her, a strange gleam in his eyes. "Mother...I_ do_ need a bath!"

Mary wanted to go upstairs, but Rosamund quickly shoved her out of the entrance hall. "I told you that I will come and fetch you at Grantham House." she had admonished Mary. "What if someone sees you here?"

Sybil walked past their aunt, exchanging an exasperated look with Mary, who had insisted on coming to see Matthew today, but the elders of the family still seemed determined to keep her away from him at least until New Years. If Mary was perfectly honest with herself, a small part of her was glad for the delay. Otherwise, she would certainly not have heeded to her parents demands...she wasn't a child anymore.

Fortunately, Sybil was allowed to see their cousin and would help with moving the convalescent from one house to the other, if he was strong enough that is. Unbeknownst to the parents, Sybil was also playing messenger. In the pocket of her grey nurse's skirt, she held a small note which Mary had scribbled down before they left for No. 4.

Once Rosamund had left to take Mary to Bond Street for some shopping, Sybil went to find Isobel, but was told that Matthew was just bathing. She didn't mind waiting at all, seen as it gave her the perfect opportunity to use Rosamund's telephone...and call Tom.

How she missed him. She and Mary were both being kept away from their loves, which was simply not to be borne. Tom calmed her rant immediately and promised to meet her on New Years eve. Somehow. If he had to sneak into her garden and climb her balcony, then so be it.

Satisfied and calmer, Sybil put the telephone down and finally went upstairs to see to Matthew.

When she opened the door, however, she could practically see Matthew's eager expression falling in like a soufflé. From highest hopes to utter despondence. Clearly, her presence was a disappointement and she knew why. He must have heard that Mary had been downstairs...

Freshly bathed and shaven, his hair combed and dressed in new pyjamas, Matthew had propped himself up to be more presentable for Mary. He'd been so excited when the door opened that he had been about to open his arms for her to run into...

And then there was Sybil. Only Sybil, no matter how often he peeked behind her. She was alone.

"Don't be disappointed." Sybil said softly, correctly identifying the sour expression on her cousin's face. "She would have come, if she could." she assured him. Matthew was miffed. How hard was it to climb a flight of stairs?

"Here." Sybil walked up to his bedside. "Mary asked me to give you this." She held out the folded note, grinning when Matthew's hand shot out for it at once. He opened it and read quickly. She watched with slight alarm how his wheezing became more pronounced again. His pale eyes scanned over the few lines again and again...

"We'll move you tomorrow." Sybil informed him. "You'll see her then." There was a note of sadness in Sybil's voice, which Matthew only registered after he'd read Mary's note for the fifth time and finally looked up. "Tom was kicked out, wasn't he?" he asked regretfully. Sybil nodded grimly, then made to leave, but Matthew arrested her.

"Could you..." he leaned forwards to grab the bundle of letters, tied together more neatly now with a ribbon, and held it out for her. "Could you give this to Mary, please?" he coughed a little, more out of nerves than his lung affliction. Sybil smiled and took the packet willingly. She had seen this before and asked him if they were love letters...

"Of course." Curiosity got the better of her then. "What is now?" she asked, inspecting the stack of thick blank envelopes. Matthew hesitated, then sighed. "The things _I_ could not talk to her about." He watched with mild alarm as the letters disappeared into Sybil's bag. Too late to retract.

And he wanted Mary to know. To know all about him, as he knew all about her now.

When Sybil had left, he leaned back into the pillowes to make himself more comfortable. Isobel came in to check on him, announcing that the doctor was on his way for his final examination before Matthew would be moved. He barely listened as he pressed the fancy paper with Mary's beautifully slanted calligraphy to his nose and inhaled deeply.

_Vanilla. And Mary. _

Isobel smiled indulgently at her son's absurd behaviour. It had been a long time since she had last seen him behave so silly and obviously in love. She was almost tempted to ask what Mary had written, but she did not want to embarrass him.

Hopefully, all would be well now. It was about time.

Hours later, when it was almost midnight, Matthew pulled the letter out from under his pillow again and switched on the light next to his bed. Just one more time...he'd read it one more time and then sleep...

_My darling Matthew, _

_I'm so sorry for running off the other day. It was cowardly of me and I can't tell you how much I regret it now that I won't be allowed to come and visit you. Apparently, we have become London gossip and Papa prefers if we retain a distance, at least until New Years. I can't wait to see you, Matthew, though I must admit that the prospect of speaking to you about the 'thing' does fill me with a sense of dread. Perhaps you don't even want to see me now, or talk to me, and I'd perfectly understand your motives. I just want you to know that I miss you sorely, my darling and I hope that you are not too disgusted with me, now that you know my secret. I want to be with you, more than anything, but if you feel unable to maintain our relationship, I won't hold it against you. _

_All my love, _

_Mary. _

He folded it again, placed it carefully under his pillow and turned off the light. In the darkness of the room, Matthew sighed. If Sybil had kept word, Mary must have read some of his letters by now. The thought terrified him. How anxious they both were of alienating and losing each other...

And how clueless Mary was of the extend of his love. Did she honestly believe he would be so petty and small-minded to hold her past against her? Did she seriously think he would let her go again?

Oh Mary, he thought, how little she knew him. But that would be over soon enough. Once she had read his letters, all his darkest thoughts over the past three years...she would know him inside and out.

And then, he would be the one who'd need her absolution...but somehow, Matthew hoped that he knew Mary well enough to be sure of her capacity to still see the best in him, to sooth his guilty conscience and make him feel human again.

If there was anyone in this world who could do it, it was his Mary...his strong and loving Mary, who had absolutely nothing to be afraid or ashamed of. He would love her always, and could only pray that she felt the same way about him...

Tomorrow he would know.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: So sorry for the delay, guys! Mad week, but I also wanted to take some time for this chapter to get it right. Hope I did :) Thank you all for the wonderful reviews on the last chapter. You're darlings and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Major fluff to come, you've been warned...enjoy ;)**

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London, New Years 1917/1918. 

Before lunch time, Matthew had been moved to Grantham House. Some of the Downton staff, namely Carson, O'Brien, Anna and Mr. Bates had also arrived within the past two days in order to attend to the family for their impromptu stay in London.

In the small library of the town house, they had prepared a niche for Matthew to rest in during the day. Mary herself had seen fit that he'd have a private corner, away from the family and the general hubbub and chaos that had still not quite settled down.

Tom Branson had telephoned early in the morning, asking his Lordship for a brief meeting. The latter hung up on him rudely, causing Sybil to throw a tantrum. In the end, Violet had warned her son not to let things escalate by treating his youngest daughter like an errant child. Better to confront the problem, than to chase her away along with it.

As soon as Matthew entered the house, however, everyone tried to keep the peace, if only for the sake of the young man who was still not fully recovered. Isobel helped him settle in the large green chair, where it had been placed neither too close nor too far from the fireplace.

Mary noticed that it was Matthew now, who avoided her eye, as if he were afraid of what _she_ might think of him. The letters, which Sybil had delivered to her last night, were still up in her room. Unread, except for the note Matthew had added to it...

"_When I returned years ago, at the dinner table, you asked me to tell you what my life had been like of late. And I could not tell you, my darling, I could only write it down for you, though I hoped you would never have to be exposed to it all. This, Mary, is everything that I could not talk to you about. __You will see, my dear, that there is more than one way of losing one's 'innocence'. And if you'd rather not see me again after reading this, please know that I can't possibly despise you for the things that have befallen you in the past. You are the strongest and the bravest person I know, Mary, and I will love you always." _

As she watched him ease back in the chair, his light blue eyes fixed on her, Mary could barely wait for the others to leave them alone. Luckily, the sudden and unbidden appearance of a desperate Tom Branson at the front door, drew everyone's attention away from Matthew, at least for a the time being.

Still standing in the doorframe, biding her time, Mary watched Isobel tuck a blanket around Matthew's legs, who quickly tugged it off again. "I'm not a baby, Mother." she could hear him protest, before he threw another anxious look over at the woman he loved. Isobel huffed her disapproval, but decided to humor her son. Mary was here to take over, and she trusted the young woman to be as meticulous in her care as the mother herself would be.

Alone at last, Mary closed the heavy wooden door behind Isobel and leaned against it. Her dark eyes were glowing in the murky light emanating from the window. It was a cold, but bright day outside.

Matthew fidgeted in his chair, breathing heavily in torment. If only she would speak...

"You look better." Mary began tentatively. "Yes." he replied, just as carefully. "Are you feeling stronger?" she inquired as she slowly moved away from the door towards the fireplace. Matthew's heart thudded in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears, as he watched her graceful gait. His fingers were aching to reach out and pull this woman, _his_ woman, onto his lap and into his arms.

"Strong enough?" she asked quietly, seizing him up out of the corner of her eye. "Yes." Matthew croaked, not sure why this was important. Truth be told, he still felt rather done for, but he'd certainly not want to appear weak or decrepit in front of Mary. "I'm feeling much stronger."

"Well, good." she said cheerfully, causing Matthew to pant with excitement as she moved closer. Close enough to touch. Without hesitation, he reached out and poked the little finger of her left hand. It was trembling ever so slightly. Leaning forward, he enclosed her hand fully and brought it up to his lips.

The tears fell from Mary's lashes, but this time, she did not even care. Matthew loved her. Still. Despite everything. He did not hate her, he wasn't disgusted and put off by her status as 'damaged goods' as many other men would have been...

No, darling Matthew rained kisses all over her hand, her fingers, her wrist. Worshipping her, as if she were a saint...instead of a sinner. At last, a sob broke from her lips, one that had been repressed for far too long. "I'm sorry. For what I am." she croaked.

Matthew looked up and perhaps for the first time, they saw each other with perfect clarity. Flawed and raw. With all their dents and scars. With everything they had done in the past, good and bad. Or what had been done to them...

And what they were for all the rest of the world now: guilty, culpable, damaged...imperfect.

"Perfect." he whispered reverently, using the fleeting strength in his upper body to pull her down to him, so she would settle against his chest. "To me...you are perfect." he said fiercely. And she had always been. He hadn't lied that night at Downton, when he made it clear that he loved her for all her flaws, not despite of them. Because they made her perfect for him...as his mate.

"Matthew." she whispered, quite incapable of thinking what to reply. Words usually failed her in moments such as this, but she wanted him to know. That he was perfect to her, too. Holding his face in her hands, she pressed her lips against his waiting mouth, enjoying the small whimpering sounds he made. Like a young puppy. Matthew pressed her closer to his chest as he grew bolder, using his tongue more freely than he had ever dared to before. It felt so good, so natural with Mary. So abolutely right.

Soon, tongues caressed deeply, eager hands clutched at thinly clad bodies, and they had to pull apart, aware that their passion could very easily run out of control. "God." Matthew panted, caressing Mary's cheek with his nose. "You're driving me insane." He felt obliged to shift a little in his seat.

Mary chuckled darkly when she sensed the very real effect that she had on Matthew, straining firmly against the underside of her thigh, where it rested in his lap. "I can tell." she cooed mischievously, delighted at the sight of Matthew's ears turning crimson. He licked his lips, very nervous all of a sudden.

"But...I still need to know, my darling..." he whispered hoarsely. "...what you think of _me_ now." Mary frowned, then understood. "Matthew, I haven't read the letters...and I won't, until I'm certain you really want me to." she admitted. He blinked up at her, not sure whether he was relieved or disappointed.

"I do." He'd made up his mind. "No...you don't." Mary shook her head gently. "But I appreciate what you tried...to make me feel better about my secret." She leaned in to rub the tip of her nose against his, making him smile broadly. They stayed close like this for a few moments, calming down together from their heated kisses.

Matthew deliberated some more. "Mary, I _do_ want you to know me. I want you to read the letters." he decided then, regarding her earnestly. "And I trust you not to run away, even if you know the worst of me..." This was not entirely true. Deep down he was immensely terrified of exactly this happening, but the fact that Mary had trusted him with what she considered to be the 'worst' of her, made him want to be completely honest with his darling, too.

Deepest love, constancy and honesty, that's what he wanted their marriage to be build on. There must be no secrets between them ever again...

"I'd never run." Mary whispered, softly sweeping a finger over his brow. The doctor had to stitch the wound there. "And if you truly want to...then you and I will look at the letters. But only together." she said firmly, looking on as Matthew sucked in a deep gulp of air. He blinked rapidly and his brows contracted.

"Or not?" She retracted quickly, but when Matthew lifted his face once more, she could see that he was simply too overwhelmed to speak. "You and I...together." he nodded, lips closed tightly as he tried to clear his throat. Mary's thumbs quickly brushed over his cheeks before he pulled her in for a searing kiss.

"My Mary." he uttered breathlessly, his blue eyes roaming greedily over her porcelain features, even as he pressed her frame tightly to him. "Then we'll be married very soon?" Mary pursed her lips, shaking her head. "You have to ask me properly, you know." She pulled back slightly to regard her future husband with a twitching, yet determined smile. "I won't answer unless you...kneel down and everything."

Alas Matthew never had a chance to do so as the door opened and a weeping Sybil hurried inside. If she hadn't immediately detected the tears dripping off her sister's chin, Mary would have been tempted to shoo her out. "Darling, what is it?" she called instead, trying to rise from her perch on Matthew's lap. Instinctively he tried to hold her, then let go, with a small sigh of regret.

"This is a disaster! We should have run away...like we planned last year." Sybil snarled, anger taking over as she paced the room. "Imagine, Papa tried to _bribe_ Tom into giving me up." she sniffed. "Needless to say that Tom was insulted beyond measure." Both Mary and Matthew nodded understandingly. What an awful idea!

Matthew could only imagine how hard it must be to fight for your love against class divide and family expectations. Luckily for him, this at least had never been a problem in his pursuit of Mary, even though he had envied Tom the unshakable trust he always had in Sybil's feelings for him. In many ways, their situations had been reversed.

Until now. For Mary truly loved him now...

It was rather difficult to stay focused on the drama unfolding around them when they were still so full of happiness about their own reunion. Sybil had of course no idea what she had just interrupted.

"Please, I need your support." she plead, taking Mary's arm. "Of course, darling." the latter agreed, though she threw a regretful glance at Matthew, whose face fell when he saw her leave. However, he managed to collected himself quickly. This reprise was not entirely bad, as it gave him the chance to prepare for what Mary requested...what she deserved so very much...

A _proper_ proposal of marriage.

Matthew briefly wondered how Napier had done it, then quickly shoved aside the very image. He was fairly certain that Lord Branksome's son and heir had come up with something more dignified than blurting out "Oh, marry me, please!" over a plate of cucumber sandwiches, mere seconds after their first kiss in a dimly lit dining room.

This time, he _would_ do it 'properly'.

"I'd like to speak with Robert." Matthew said out of the blue. The girls turned around. "About Tom?" Sybil wondered, feeling hopeful. Papa loved Matthew, perhaps he could convince him...

"That too." he nodded, then tried to rise from his very comfortable chair. "Stop." the sisters cried in alarm, hurrying over to force him back down. "You still need rest. I'll tell Papa to come and see you." Sybil said joyfully, already making for the door.

Mary quirked an eyebrow at her old and new suitor, but refrained from asking. She already knew what he would do and she was amused to find that Matthew was quite nervous. He fidgeted in his seat and grabbed her hand to pull it to his chest. "I'll wait for you to come back later." he told her when Robert entered the small library. Mary hated to leave them alone, but tradition called for it.

Once the door fell shut behind her, Matthew cleared his throat. "You've much improved since earlier this morning." Robert noticed wrily as he let himself fall heavily into the green chair opposite Matthew's. He covered his face with one hand and sighed as if he had the care of the world on his shoulders.

For an instant, Matthew wasn't certain whether this was the right time. Robert had quite a lot of trouble these days. Then again, his elder cousin had always been most eager for a union between his heir and his eldest daughter, so this conversation might actually ease his mind and make him more susceptible to accepting the fact of Sybil and Tom...

"Thank you." he replied to Robert's comment, though it had struck him as odd. Almost unfriendly in tone. "I do feel much better. In fact, I feel wonderful. And the reason is that..." he hesitated, not sure how to phrase it. "...Mary and I will get married." he smiled broadly, feeling happiness flood him from the the top of his head into his smallest toe.

"Are you?" came the dull reply. Robert frowned, then looked up at Matthew, watching the young man's glowing expression falter slightly. "I'd have thought you'd be pleased to hear it." Matthew said with decidedly less spirit.

"And I'd have thought you'd have more consideration for the honour of this family and my daughter as to behave in such a scandalous manner." Robert growled.

Right, Matthew thought, clearly he'd picked the worst possible timing to secure her father's consent, which he had taken quite for granted. His cousin was in the foulest mood, no doubt owing to the drama around Sybil. Perhaps he had better be silent...

On the other side, Matthew felt a sting at the idea that people imagined his intentions towards Mary had at any given time been less than honourable. "Look. I know this all went rather topsy turvy and I sincerely apologize for my conduct at the ball. I should have known better." he paused, trying not to sound put out. Robert was breathing hard, like an angry bull in a Spanish arena.

"But you know I'd _never_ have risked Mary's reputation. For anything. And now that we'll get married, I really don't see the problem..." He did sound a little petulant, but that was not what irked Robert.

"You think it's that simple, don't you?" the elder Crawley laughed bitterly. "For some reason, I don't know why...Mary's reputation had been under scrutiny for some years now...but after these latest escapades, she's become the talk of the town! I'm sure it does not matter to _you_ and perhaps not to Mary now that she is secure, but have you even stopped to _think_ that her sisters' names will be tainted by association?" Robert shook his head. Matthew was the brightest young man of his acquaintance, but there were times when he could be frighteningly daft. "You haven't thought, have you?" Robert barked.

Matthew had not. But Sybil was going to marry Branson and Edith...well, to his shame, he had to admit that he had not really considered what Edith would do in the future. It was true, she never had a string of prospective suitors, but if Robert was right, her chances had become significantly slimmer by this supposed 'affair'.

"No...God, I'm sorry." Matthew groaned, blinking at the fire. Robert nodded, satisfied that his heir seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation at last. "Edith and Sybil still have a chance to be settled properly." he determined, nodding to himself. Matthew frowned at that. "Surely Sybil has made her choice..." he argued, triggering another outburst from the concerned father.

"To the _chauffeur_? I think not!" he snarled, glaring at Matthew for suggesting such a thing, for consenting to this utter madness! "And don't think I'll pat you on the shoulder for the mess you and Mary got yourself into." Matthew sat up straighter in his chair, feeling his chest tighten at those words. He was not used to Robert's disapproval, let alone his wrath. And the accusation made him see red.

"You can't control everything, Robert." he snapped and coughed. "Branson's got himself a decent job now, he'll provide for Sybil and I will marry your eldest daughter. This is a new age, these are the facts, whether you approve or not." Matthew knew it was terribly bold and even rude to speak so, but he had had about enough of other people and of this family meddling into his and Mary's relationship.

Once and for all.

"Well, I _don't_ approve...and to be perfectly honest, I don't think I will give my consent to _either_ of you." Robert roared, his face taking on the shade of the heavy red curtains framing the windows.

Matthew gaped at the raging man. _This_ he had not expected. Not in a million years.

Robert knew he had impressed his opponent, even if it was only a bluff. The time would come when Matthew was head of this family, along with Mary, of that Robert was sure. And some part of him inwardly sighed in blissful relief that the future of Downton was secure now...

But until then, _he_ himself was still the Lord around here and _he_ was still in charge of the family affairs and the business of his own daughters. _He_ and not Matthew Crawley!

And so, Robert left his young heir to ponder these facts. He wished to go for a long walk in the Park nearby, to calm his nerves and clear his mind before dinner. They were to have guests and he was loath to find himself snapping at them as well. It had been a horrid day and a horrid year and he needed it to be over and done with. Cora might join him on his walk. Tonight, they would celebrate the arrival of the New Year and he wished to do so in calm and peace...

At five, Mary returned to the library to take tea with Matthew. Her father, for some reason insisted that Sybil and Edith should accompany the pair. Mary had refrained from complaining, seen as everyone had only just simmered down and she did not want to spoil for another fight. Sybil had caught herself tolerably, but was still grateful for any distraction, so Mary did not want to ask her to leave either.

If Matthew was disappointed about their lack of privacy, he did not show it. Sitting in his chair, with a cup of tea and saucer resting on his knee, he was content to simply gaze at Mary and enjoy her smiles from across the room, even though his hands were restless with the urge to touch and hold his beloved.

Mary noticed that he was particularly kind and attentive towards her sisters this afternoon, inquiring after Tom and even asking Edith what her plans were for the new year. Mary tried to listen and concentrate on Sybil's rant about Papa's antiquated world views, whilst sipping her tea and watching her soon-to-be fiancé.

He did looked much better, but still worn out. The once round, jolly face of her Matthew was pale and drawn, his blue eyes looked bigger in it. Smiling at Sybil, she asked her to pass the plate of cakes to her left, then stood to put it on the table next to Matthew. She knew they were his favourite.

Sybil smirked when she recognized the gesture. "You're lucky." she commented quietly when Mary sat back down next to her. "Am I?" Mary wondered. Looking at Matthew again, who stared at her longingly even as he stuffed the first piece of cake into his mouth and chewed it with evident relish, Mary knew that she was very, very lucky indeed.

He was safe now and he was with her and they would get married...

She turned to Sybil and pressed her hand briefly. It felt cold. "Darling, we'll find a way. Tom has been so patient before, I'm sure he will wait, no matter how long it takes for Papa to come around." It was all the hope and consolation she could offer her little sister. Sybil smiled weakly in turn, not quite convinced, but cheered by the reassurance that she had both her sisters on her side. And their dear cousin.

The doctor came for a brief visit after tea time, after which Matthew had insisted he would be formally dressed and sit at dinner with everyone else. "For the last time, I'm not an invalid! Am I supposed to eat on my own and go to bed at eight?" he threw at his mother, who shook her head grimly.

"In a word...yes." Dr. Donaldson ordered while he packed his bag. "Heavy food isn't good for you now. Nor would alcoholic drinks be. You can't sit with the smokers because of your damaged lungs and believe me, you'll be exhausted long before midnight. Going to sleep at eight would be just the thing."

Isobel looked warily at her son, who's lips were pressed together in a way that bode nothing pleasant. "Matthew, listen to Dr. Donaldson. You're still in recuperation. Taxing yourself now might lead to a relapse." She turned to her late husband's old friend. "Am I right?"

Dr. Donaldson nodded gravely. "Quite right, Mrs. Crawley. Be reasonable, young man. You're lucky to have survived. Don't be foolish and risk your health now." he admonished Matthew, who felt provoked by the patronizing tone of the old man. Robert's tirade this afternoon had been quite enough.

"Thank you, doctor. I've been in France for the past three years. I dare say that I know all about risk and survival." Matthew muttered tartly, then turned away. He was back in his bedroom upstairs, where he had planned on donning his formal wear for the night. And for the proposal...

Isobel and Donaldson exchanged an uncomfortable glance, after which the doctor left. He had two married daughters, but no son who might have gone to fight in this dreadful war. And in this instant, he was truly glad for it.

Shortly before dinner time, Isobel brought Matthew a tray with soup and news that Mary promised to look in on him after dinner. That was not good enough. Seething inwardly, Matthew gulped down the soup without tasting it. He coughed and waited patiently for his mother to leave. As soon as the door shut, he left the bed and yanked his pyjamas off. Next to the closet hung his full mess kit and he stumbled towards it.

What did the doctor know? Wallowing alone in this bed would do him more harm than good. He wanted to be where Mary was tonight. He wanted to wish her a happy new year and most of all he wanted to secure Mary's hand...

Robert's harsh words would certainly not stop him. If he did not approve, an absolutely ridiculous notion considering how keen everyone had been for him and Mary to unite, then that was too bad. But Matthew would, he simply _had to_ ask Mary tonight.

_Properly_. As his darling had wished for.

Fastening the cufflinks, Matthew took a deep breath. His lungs still troubled him, but he refused to let anything prevent his plans. He observed his reflection in the looking glass and pulled a face when he beheld the sunken features and bluish circles around his eyes. Not very becoming at all. And then there were the four stitches above his brow. It wasn't exactly gruesome sight, but not very appetizing either.

He glanced down and closed his eyes. It didn't matter. Mary loved him either way. She had said it and he felt that he could believe it, for the very first time. His hand glid down to pat the side of his black formal trousers. Stored safely in the right pocket was a small velvet box.

Downstairs, Mary couldn't wait for dinner to be over. Surprisingly enough, the evening was not entirely horrid, but her first priority tonight was to be with Matthew, one way or another. The doctor, whom she had pestered about his patient's condition, had warned her not to 'wear him out' when he left earlier this evening.

But there was no harm in bidding Matthew goodnight and giving him an early new years kiss, surely. If only they would finally go through. Her father's mood had improved greatly when a few guests arrived and distracted him. Rosamund had of course been invited, along with her new beau. A Lord Hepworth who flirted like a whippersnapper, in Mary's opinion. Whispering so to Sybil made her little sister laugh for the first time in days. She passed it on to Edith.

Isobel observed her son's true love from across the table, smirking when she saw Mary fidget impatiently. It was more than satisfactory to see that her Matthew was loved and longed for as much as he did in turn. When the two women's eyes met, they shared a conspiratory smile.

The plan was for Mary to sneak out and upstairs once the Ladies went through to, leaving Robert to enjoy his brandy and cigars with Hepworth and Sir Anthony Strallan, who currently resided in town and had promptly been invited by Violet, to Edith's infinite joy and excitement.

Matthew panted audibly when he finally reached the last flight of stairs. It had been more exhausting than he'd imagined, but he was nearly there. He stifled the coughs that came with every painful breath he sucked in. His strength was waning, but he would be damned if he gave up now.

Clutching at the bannister, he forced his legs to carry him down the last few steps, wishing that Mary was here, yet dreading that she should see him like this. So sickly, weak and pathetic.

When he'd tried to think of the perfect way to propose to her, Matthew imagined that Mary must have always dreamt of a romantic scene with some sort of Adonis-like 'Prince Charming' or _Perseus_, who would sweep her off her feet...

Matthew, currently struggling to keep up on his own feet, vowed to do his best to give Mary this experience, though the fear of disappointing her expectations gnawed at him severely. Once safe at the foot of the stairs, he took another deep breath and looked up to find Mary standing right in front of him.

"Why are you..." she started to berate him, but Matthew had already clasped her shoulders and pressed his lips repeatedly to hers. "Oh my darling." he whispered reverently against her mouth. He leaned back to drink in her appearance, bewitched by the sight of Mary in a dark red evening gown, a diamond ornament glittering in her lush dark hair. And suddenly Matthew was far too bedazzled by her beauty to speak or even remember what he'd wanted to say in the first place...

Mary used his moment of mute adoration to move and drag him down the deserted hallway into the small library he had occupied during the day. The only sounds they made were the rustling of her burgundy gown and the clicking of her heels on the black and white tiles in the hall.

They closed the door carefully, then fell into each others arms under desperate kisses, nearly sobbing as they indulged in this moment of unchaperoned passion. Matthew staggered on unsteady legs, but Mary caught and steadied them with some effort. He was heavy. Concern creased her brow and she pulled away, much to his chagrin.

Blast his feeble constitution!

"Come, sit down." she urged him, heading for the chair near the fire, but Matthew shook his head, pulling her towards him again. "No, my love. I want...I mean, it's not how..." he faltered and his palms grew sweaty. How to make this perfect for her? How to not mess this up?

"What is it?" Mary grew afraid now. He should not have risen out of bed, the doctor had warned them. If he had a relapse now, she would go mad. "Matthew, you need to go back upstairs. It's no good, you're still not well." she pushed him away a little, albeit with regret. It touched her to think that he had dressed up and tried to spend the evening with her, but it would be foolish to overdo it now.

Matthew sighed deeply, then made his way to the chair. Perhaps he had better take a moment to relax and gather his wits. If only she knew that it was was not merely his illness which knocked the wind out of him, but Mary's intoxicating presence, her touch and voice...and by _God_, her kisses...

Indulging in these heavenly joys was still so new, so unreal...any minute now, he must surely startle awake and find himself back in the trench five feet down in the sodding mud! Without Mary and without her sweet kisses...

He blinked up at his darling, feeling tears sting at the very sight of her. So lovely. And so real. He wasn't dreaming. She was real. This was all real. And suddenly Matthew knew that when he'd propose to her now, it would also be very real. Not a fairy tale. No prince or Perseus...

Just him and his love for her. It was all Mary's, if she wanted it.

"Are you feeling dizzy, darling? Should I open a window for a minute?" Mary quickly moved to the large window behind them, through which one could see the night sky, obscured by myriads of snow flakes that tumbled out of the clouds. It was a cold night, so perhaps she should not expose Matthew to the freezing air.

"On second thought, I don't think you need to..." she turned and startled to find Matthew standing directly behind her. He smiled shily, his voice tremulous. "I only need this." His hand gently took hers, holding it tight.

Why was he nervous? Mary eyed him worriedly. Hadn't they cleared all their obstacles? Or had he changed his mind...about her? He'd said that it didn't matter, what she had done, but what if he suddenly...

Heaving a shuddering sigh, that had nothing to do with his taxed lungs, Matthew felt weakened and empowered at the same time. In the dim light of the room, she could see his pale eyes were gleaming with an intensity that made _her_ nervous now. So much adoration, so much love. And suddenly she realized what was happening.

Matthew sank down on one bended knee, took another shaky breath, then raised his eyes to Mary. _His_ darling Mary, her feminine silhouette framed by the whirls of snow that fell behind the window. He clasped her right hand securely between his and spoke...

"Lady Mary Crawley..." Her face, initially a mask of surprise and disbelief, broke out into the most heart-wrenching smile he had ever seen. Matthew paused and blinked furiously, too affected by her evident delight and the incredible fact that he had succeeded in bringing it on.

"...will you do my the honour of becoming my wife?" His voice cracked on the last word and for only a second, Matthew allowed a shudder of fear to take hold. What if she said no after all? Or told him to wait again for an answer.

This time, he'd actually go mad...

"Yes!" Mary cried, nodding eagerly, the smile almost painful on her face. She was so happy, so all-consumingly happy that she hardly knew what to do, how to be, how to exist...

With a little effort, Matthew scrambled to his feet, still clutching her hand rather tightly. All their happiness was reflected in the face of the other and Matthew couldn't hold back any longer. His arms shot out, closing around his new bride, so that he could bestow an earnest kiss upon her.

With some effort they both kept their tongues in check, meaning to honour the chasteness of their engagement kiss.

Mary sobbed very quietly into him. It was simply too wonderful and her heart couldn't cope with all this emotion. She could have remained here forever, engulfed in Matthew's arms, sliding her lips softly over his, feeling his heart beat longingly against her breasts.

Matthew laughed with pure joy as he swung her around in his embrace. Pneumonia be damned, he felt stronger than he ever had in his whole life. Hearing Mary's own melodic peals of laughter, he could have cried, danced, screamed and laughed, all at the same time.

When his exhuberance finally gave way to the complaints of his recovering body, he carefully put his treasure down and urged her to take a seat in the chair. Mary cocked an eyebrow and pushed him down into the seat instead. Before he could complain, Mary had settled on top of him, placing her bottom prettily in his lap and her legs over one arm of the chair. She laughed unabashedly at his expression. Matthew looked ready to devour her.

He had to make a serious effort to keep his wits about, if only for another instant. Mary looked on as he shifted a little underneath her, one hand snaking down to rummage in his trousers pocket from whence he produced something. She could not detect what it was, for he kept it hidden in his clenched fist, regarding it rather worryingly.

"My darling, I hope...that is, I _know_ this isn't..." he struggled and Mary was taken aback by his sudden bout of shyness. Something bothered him. "Yes?" the word rolled off her tongue like a caress and it served to sooth his agitation a little. "I've seen the one _he_ had given you. And I fear this...is nothing compared to it." The knuckles on his hand turned white around the small blue velvet box.

Finally, Mary caught on. Leaning her head against his tense shoulder, she whispered, "I would cherish anything...as long as it was you who gave it to me." Her words touched him deeply and so he pulled himself together and opened his hand at last.

Carefully, Mary took the velvet box out of his stiff fingers. Matthew moved again, to gain a better view of her face, to gauge her reaction. With a clacking sound, the box sprang open to reveal a beautiful light golden ring, delicately crafted, with fine ornaments framing a small round diamond in the middle. She gasped.

Indeed, Matthew's offering was significantly smaller and simpler than the large diamond ring Evelyn had graced her finger with. However, Mary noticed that it bore some resemblence to a ring she used to wear, an heirloom from her great-grandmother. The antique ring had been lost at a picnic in 1914.

Had he actually remembered the design of her favourite ring? No, she decided, it must be a coincidence. "It reminded me of that ring you lost in London...that day when we nearly fell into the Serpentine..." he explained with a nervous chuckle as he watched her closely. Mary was silent for what felt like an eternity to him."You don't like it, do you? Just be honest, it's alright if you don't." he rambled in a low voice, obviously downtrodden by her unenthusiastic reaction.

"I'll buy you a better..." the words died on his lips when she caught them with her mouth. Mary kissed him deeply, lovingly, trying to communicate without words what this mean to her. Matthew always remembered _everything_...every small little thing that mattered to her. He knew her better than anyone else ever could. Better than she knew herself.

"I love...it." she whispered. For a second, he'd imagined she would say something else. Matthew knew Mary loved him, but she hadn't said it yet, not in so many words. "It's perfect, truly." she added emphatically when she thought he looked mildly disappointed. "Honestly, darling. I do love the ring. Thank you so much." She leaned in to press another sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth, causing it to pull up immediately.

"And I love you." he whispered very quietly, then quickly took the ring out of her hand, flipped it around and held it up. "Look." Something had been engraved into the inside of the ring. The letter M, followed by a tiny heart, and another M. It wasn't a difficult code to decipher. Mary had to stifle a giggle. Her Matthew was a hopeless romantic and quite prone to overdoing things a little...

His heart sank when he saw her surpressed mirth. "Do you think it's silly?" he worried."No." she shook her head, "Just very endearing. And very like you." Mary grinned. It was a sign, a token of his love and she cherished it dearly. The only question was, how on earth did he get it engraved in the past few days? Come to think of it...how could he even procure a ring, while he was confined to his bed?

"But...when and where did you get it?"

Matthew blushed. "London. In 1914." he admitted sheepishly. Mary gaped in shock. Some strange sweet pain suddenly laced through her heart. She couldn't believe it. He had already purchased a ring in 1914? And all the while she had kept him dangling, dying for her answer...for her 'Yes'.

"Before Sybil's ball. I had it on me that night. I was too hopeful." he confessed and looked away, the memory of his disappointment was still painful. "You could have given it to..." Mary started but trailed off. Of course he wouldn't have given it to Lavinia. A second hand ring would have been very tasteless.

But the ring was valuable. He could have sold it, traded it in...

"No! Never. This ring was always yours, and yours alone." Matthew muttered, then sighed. "I kept it, I don't even know why. Maybe some small part of me was still hopeful, I don't know..." he drifted off. Mary stared at the ring, until the view became blurred. He had kept it...because some part of him had not given up on her after all.

Very tenderly, Matthew took her left hand and pulled the black silken glove off, digit by digit. Mary's heart raced as fast as his when her white porcelain hand became visible. He tried to keep his own hand from trembling as he slipped the ring slowly onto her slender fourth finger.

To both their relief and delight, it fit. And perfectly so.

Matthew became transfixed by the sight of his ring, actually sitting where it belonged, after all these years. He bent down and started to press kiss after kiss to her delicate hand. Mary managed to surpress a whimper, struggling with the fact that her dream had finally come true. She was engaged to the man she truly loved...

They were _engaged_. To be man and wife. It was almost too big a concept to grasp after these endless years apart...

From beyond the library walls, they could hear the muffled noises of the family party, apparently in excellent spirits, despite the troubles of the past days. "Shall we tell them now or tomorrow?" Matthew nodded towards the door, eager to announce his happiness. Mary stiffened, rather unwilling to leave their happy bubble just yet.

"Well, alright...but only to the family, so better tomorrow." she determined, then quickly added, "Just for the time being. If we make it public so soon after we've become unattached. With all the rumours, it'll only look as if you got me...well, you know...into _trouble_." Mary said matter-of-factly, then chuckled softly at the deep blush that stained Matthew's cheeks.

It rather seemed as if he'd like nothing best than to get her into '_trouble'. _

"We must consider Lavinia..." Mary reminded him, though with a hint of sourness. He knew she made a perfectly valid point, yet he couldn't help replying more snarkily than intended, "...and of course your dear Evelyn mustn't be put out."

Of course it was beyond childish to still be jealous of the man, but Matthew had lived with this emotion for such a long time that it was difficult to shed from one moment to another. Mary shook her head slightly, a sweet smile playing in the corner of her mouth.

"You wouldn't speak so if you heard what he'd said about you...about _us. _I know you, Matthew Crawley. You're not _that _resentful, rather the opposite." she stated firmly. Her Matthew was as decent and kind a man as Evelyn ever was and it saddened her to imagine that there might have been a solid friendship between the two men, were it not for their rivalry.

Still, one day...perhaps...if Evelyn found someone who made him truly happy...

Matthew said nothing, but smiled at her in so adorable a fashion that she could not remain stern. Taking her naked hand, he showered it with more kisses, his eyes shut tightly. "I'm not resentful, because I'm the lucky one." he mumbled, staring at the ring. "How long do you wish to wait?" His light eyes pierced her, and she saw a hint of sorrow that they would have to wait at all.

"Not long." she promised, smoothing away the frown that had built on his injured brow. "Perhaps it's just as well we keep it to ourselves for now..." he sighed exasperatedly, recalling the nasty afternoon he'd had with Robert.

"Oh?" Mary's eyebrows shot up. It was unlike her stubborn Matthew to give in so easily.

"Your Papa...he's 'withheld' his blessing when I asked for your hand." Matthew lamented. He threw his hand out towards the other room, clearly peeved. The whole notion was so ridiculous and unbelievable that Mary burst out laughing. It had to be a joke. Papa adored Matthew. He would dance in little circles on the day of their wedding.

"I'm serious, my darling. He said so this afternoon." Matthew recounted. "Oh Matthew, you didn't _actually_ believe that, did you? Papa's going a little mad these days mostly because of Sybil. Admittedly, _we_ haven't made the past weeks very pleasant for anyone either. So don't worry, it'll pass." she assured him and put her head against her new fiancé's shoulder, who promptly enclosed his bride in his arms and leaned back to settle them both deeper into the chair by the window.

The snow was still falling lightly outside and Mary watched it for a while, smiling serenely at the beautiful sight. Matthew, more interested in another beautiful sight, watched her besottedly. They didn't speak, but he had picked up her gloveless, newly adorned hand and held it tightly to his chest, right above the place where his heart beat thickly for her. It was the only communication they needed on a night like this.

"I'll make you happy. So very happy." He whispered as he nuzzled her cheek, first with his nose, then with his lips. Mary could only nod, her chest so constricted with emotion, that she feared to embarrass herself if she spoke now. Tears clouded her vision and she closed her eyes as she turned her face up to him, offering up her lips. A gift he accepted only too happily.

The clock on the mantle piece in the corner started to whirr and the subdued voices in the next room began to rise up into a choir of "A Happy New Year!", followed by laughter and chatter that confirmed it had become a peaceful night for the Granthams after all.

Very reluctantly, the betrothed lovers separated their lips only to grin at each other. "Happy New Year, my dearest darling." Matthew whispered lovingly. Mary replied in kind, whilst sending a silent prayer heavenward that the new year might bring the same happiness to everyone she cared for. Though she doubted anyone could possibly be as happy as she was at this moment...

Matthew, his heart full of hope, prayed only for one thing. That God may spare him in the coming months so that he might live to return home to Downton and make darling Mary his own, at long last.

God only knows for how many more years this wretched war will drag on, but Matthew felt it in his bones that 1918 would be either the year when he'd be become the happiest man on this earth...

...or the year when he'd be buried.

Nearly crushing Mary in his arms, he fervently prayed for the first outcome.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Eeep, so sorry for the long wait! I blame the weather. Trying to write a scene set in spring with all this neverending snow is really weird :) But I hope you'll like where I went with this! Thanks so so much for the lovely reviews to the last chapter! And to do away with some worries I've read, this is an AU story with a definitive happy ending (I firmly intend to write some smut too so there won't be any back injuries either ;) **

**Other than that, I may have one or two surprises left in store but shhh ;) Until then, have some M/M secret engagement fluff...hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**XXIX.**

The month that followed was without a doubt the happiest one the betrothed couple had ever experienced. While Matthew moved slowly but steadily towards a full recovery and London society had soon moved on to more imminent and scandalous slices of gossip, the Granthams had quit their town house for a return to Downton Abbey.

Sybil, who had been induced to give up any present plans of becoming 'Mrs. Tom Branson', had set herself a new task to focus on. Tom himself had encouraged her in it, to bridge the time until he had become more successful in his new field of employment. Such were Robert's conditions: If "the chauffeur" managed to build up a reasonable career in journalism and gave up all his revolutionary endeavours, only then might he reconsider...

Thus, with Tom trying his best in London, Sybil became equally ambitious at home. So it happened that in the fourth year of this catastrophic war, Downton Abbey was destined to become a convalescent home for recuperating officers. The upheaval was immense, of course, but Robert, who already felt that he'd behaved like a tyrant of late, did not want to disappoint Sybil again. Moreover, the Granthams ought to partake in the war effort by any means possible and when Cora agreed, the decision was easily made.

While Downton underwent this transformation into a full on convalescent hospital, Mary and Matthew spent as much time together as propriety would allow. Matthew was for all sense and purposes the very first convalescening soldier at Downton and Mary had rather a lot of fun playing nurse maid for her fiancé.

To her amusement, Matthew seemed to be quite torn between constantly complaining about being fussed over and thoroughly enjoying it. One day, when Matthew had been particularly grumpy Mary had made a point of leaving him alone for the day and went to help with the preparations for the convalescents. Very soon, however, her sulky charge had emerged from his corner and started following her around, albeit at a woefully slow pace. Mary tried to hide a smirk.

"I thought you wanted to read in the library?" she asked casually over her shoulder, while handing out decanters of fresh water to the soldiers. Matthew pulled a face, rolled his eyes and finally whispered. "It's dull without you."

Mary smiled, but otherwise ignored him. He'd been so cranky this morning, even snapping at her when she suggested he might use a walking stick for a tour outside, because he was still a bit shaky on his legs. The truth was, Mary knew what actually bothered him. Three things did in fact, and they had little to do with his recuperation.

First off, the two of them had yet to announce their engagement to the family and the public. Since New Years, the topic of engagements and dis-engagements was unfortunately a red cloth to his Lordship and his strained nerves. More importantly, however, it would be tasteless to announce their betrothal so shortly after the failed ones to Lavinia and Evelyn. In light of this, Mary had taken to wearing her engagement ring on a chain around the neck, rather than her finger.

Predictably, Matthew had been disappointed, though he'd refrained from making a fuss about it.

Then there was also his tiff with Robert, who had calmed down reasonably well, but still kept a strained relationship with his cousin and heir. To Mary's shame, some small part of her felt gratified that her father had finally stopped putting Matthew up on a pedestal. Of course he still loved him like his own child, there was no doubt about that, but Robert had also begun to experience the reality of what it meant to have a son...

...realizing that they have their own head, rarely do as they are told and that there is no controlling them, much less when your equally willful daughter is involved.

Mary had used to be jealous of that seemingly unshakable bond between her father and their cousin, which made it all the more ironic that she seemed to be the glue that held the two men together these days. She could only hope that in the years to come, the two headstrong bulls wouldn't lock horns over every trivial little thing...

Lastly, what really bothered Matthew the most was this supposed 'invasion' of the war in the idyllic world of Downton. Seeing the injured soldiers, the nurses and medical corps staff milling around in the place he had always held up as the very opposite of the trenches, as _Mary's place_ where life was pure and safe...it was downright disturbing to Matthew. Of course he wanted to help and for Downton to be helpful, but it still made him shudder to hear the pitiful groans of bleeding and traumatized soldiers in the once peaceful halls of his family's estate.

Mary observed his struggle and it cut her to the bone. From the unsent letters he'd written, which they had begun to read together, she had slowly began to understand how much this war affected Matthew and the way he viewed the world now. On some afternoons, when it was impossible to find a quiet corner at Downton, they drove into the village, supposedly to 'visit Isobel', though nobody was fooled.

Because Isobel was usually at Downton then to help with the convalescent home...and to quarrel with Cora.

On those wonderfully unchaperoned afternoons, where only Molesley would occasionally disturb to bring fresh tea or stoke the fire in the grate, the couple would sit together on the settee, close enough to feel the comforting presence of the other, but still fairly within the boundaries of propriety so poor Molesley would not get a shock.

There they would read Matthew's letters. But always together.

"..._twelve dead today. Lumley and Ford among them. Ford had wanted to show me the photograph of his newborn son yesterday. I told him not now, too busy preparing this..._" Matthew read out with a bleak voice, then stopped abruptly, blushing a little. "What?" Mary looked up at his pale face, quietly suffering along with him. "I used a bad word here." he explained dully. "Do you want to pause?" she asked, her arms tightening a little more around his middle and he pressed her closer into his side in turn. "No." he took a deep breath and kissed her forehead, gathering strength in the small act.

"..._this_...erm..._campaign. Found the photograph on his body. What was left of it, anyways. His whole front was blown to bits, but miraculously the picture wasn't. His son looks so much like him, Mary. Ford had been so proud, told everyone about the little chap_..." Matthew stopped again and put the letter down. Lifting the arm that was not holding Mary, he rubbed his brow vigorously. "It was my doing." he broke out. "I sent him out there...all the men...I made them go over..."

Mary blinked away her tears when she saw his. "Matthew, it wasn't your fault. You had to follow orders. It wasn't your own choice. None of it." she argued, fighting for a clear, strong voice. "I enlisted to do this. I chose to go..." came the pitiful reply as he looked directly at her now, his deep blue eyes full of an unspoken torment.

"No, Matthew..." Mary didn't know what else to argue with. There was nothing she could say in these moments. Absolutely nothing she could do to alleviate his pain...and it made her feel utterly useless.

Matthew pressed his face against her soft cheek, seeking Mary's lips for a lingering kiss. How much he needed it now and how much he needed her. Mary's love was the only light he could see in these dark moments, and he clung to it tenaciously. It was so hard to revisit all the memories and the guilt he had tried to repress as much as possible.

But strangely, ever since he'd started to read out these letters to Mary, Matthew felt better about it all. If only a little bit. Even his nightmares seemed to become less frequent and fearful. It was all Mary's doing, he decided. Simply by listening to his dreadful tales, by understanding and soothing his agitation, his darling made it all better.

Truly, she was his solace. His anchor. His sanity in all this madness.

At the same time, he felt terribly guilty for imposing this on her, for making her listen to stories of death and decay. She was much stronger than anyone gave her credit for, and he often told her so. His 'storm braver' of whom he was so proud. Considering how much Mary had born over the past years, with her secret...the constant fear of exposure. And yet, she had never lost her spirit. Matthew found that he wanted to follow her example and be brave.

Especially in the days that were to come. While he was still invalided out, they tried to ignore the nagging certainty that he would have to return to the front once he was properly back on his feet. Temporary sickness was not a sufficient reason for permanent dismissal from service. He was an officer, and he had duties...

Awareness of this made the perusal of Matthew's letters all the more unbearable to Mary, as she was constantly reminded that the author of these ghastly accounts would soon be forced to return to the hell he described therein.

And what a hell it was. She had listened to him reading out passages that turned her stomach and gave her nightmares of unspeakable horrors. When she had mentioned it to Matthew, he'd refused to read out more, wanting to preserve her from trauma. But Mary had taken the letters away and threatened that she would read them on her own then.

So he had relented and these afternoons, though filled with sadness, had also led to the pair growing even closer together. Matthew wasn't alone with his thoughts and memories anymore, as Mary willingly shared his burden now. Just as he had wanted to share the burdens of her own past...

Breathing heavily into her fragrant hair, Matthew racked up his nerves to go on.

"_4th October. Killed another one this morning, Mary. And this time I knew that I had killed. He was staggering towards me and I put my bayonet into his side. All the way through. I tried to pull it out again but it got stuck in his rib cage, I think. In my panic I..._" he paused again, closing his eyes.

Mary waited patiently, silently, watching the flickers of emotion that played out on his pale features. She knew he was reliving something unspeakable that she could not even imagine in her worst nightmares.

"._..I dragged his body on the ground, through the mud, until the bayonet came loose again. Johnson laughed when he saw it. It must have looked funny to others. Mary, I'm ashamed of my own weakness and afraid that the men noticed me throwing up behind our quaters. Mostly, I'm afraid of what you think of me when you read this. Who am I now? Am I still a dull boy to you? Oh Mary, I've killed another one today. And God help me, I must kill even more before long_." Matthew put the letter down and stared down at the yellowish sheet, refusing to meet Mary's steady gaze.

It was silent in the parlour. The clock in the corner ticked away the minutes and they could hear each other's breathing. "_I've _also killed a man." Mary didn't know why she said it, the idea had just sprung to her mind. She had killed Pamuk...in _some_ way, hadn't she? Perhaps not with a bayonet but still...

"What?" Matthew frowned at her, forgetting all about his own guilt for a moment. "Well...he died in my arms, and..." It was silly, Mary realized it herself, but this brush with death had been the closest she had come to experiencing any of the awful things Matthew had seen and done.

"Don't tell me you feel in any way responsible for what had happened that night!" Matthew growled, finding the very idea offensive and infuriating. How could she_ blame_ herself in any way, when it was clear that she had been pushed and blackmailed into it. Mary frowned back at Matthew, not appreciating his dismissive attitude.

"I'm hardly innocent in this. I...could have screamed for help." she argued, turning away from the man beside her. Talking about Kemal was the last thing she wanted to do with Matthew now...

Though he was a soldier these days, the lawyer in Matthew readily kicked in. "Circumstances would not have allowed it. If you'd screamed, it would have got you into more trouble." he countered. "I suppose..." Mary mumbled, observing the fire in the grate with much interest.

Matthew's stance softened when he saw her troubled expression. Leaning towards her, he nuzzled her ear and whispered. "No matter what you did, dearest. I'll show you that you have nothing to reproach yourself with." he said firmly and promptly conducted a cross-examination. Mary couldn't help but smile at his confident lawyer tone.

"Did you tell him off when he kissed you in the hall?" Mary nodded. "Yes...actually, I ought to have set Papa on him, then and there." she pressed out and raised an eyebrow. "I still wonder how he found out which one was my room..."

Matthew could have answered that, knowing that it had been Thomas Barrow, told straight from the horse's mouth on the medical transport. From what Matthew could gather, the footman had also been blackmailed by the Turk. "So clearly you hadn't invited him to your room that evening." Matthew continued soberly.

"No, of course not!" Mary blurted, anger colouring her voice as she recollected the impertinence of her intruder that night. She'd already told him off roundly in the hall...and yet he had completely ignored her wishes.

"And he didn't leave the room when you asked him to?" She shook her head again, no. Matthew exhaled from flared nostrils. It was difficult to keep his own fury in check, but he wanted and needed to convince Mary calmly and reasonably that she had been given no real choice in the matter...

Now came the hardest part. "What did he do then?" Matthew's voice trembled slightly and he had to clear his throat, not entirely convinced whether he wanted to hear this or not. Mary gaped at him uncertainly. He wanted to know? And then she understood. Matthew was trying to help her cope with her past just like she was trying to help him cope with the war. She pulled herself together and licked her lips.

"He just...came over and started to...kiss my neck." Mary's dark chocolate eyes flicked towards Matthew's, gauging his reaction. She could tell he was only outwardly calm. And then his hand shot out and he closed it tightly around hers. Tears prickled behind her eyelids when he brought it up to for a quick kiss, then pressed her palm to his thumping heart. "Go on." he urged gently.

"I told him to stop..that...that I wasn't the sort of...or that I was not as rebellious as he believed I was." It was difficult to recollect the exact details, since she had buried the events of this night for such a long time.

"And he didn't stop!" Matthew burst out, unable to stop himself now. His features escalated into a mask of pure outrage. Mary could feel his heart racing towards apoplexy. "No. He... he pushed me down on the bed." she said, strangely more calm in the face of Matthew's wrath. "And then he..." she trailed off. They both blushed at the unspoken...

"It all went very quickly then...literally. He wasn't gentle." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Matthew's right hand gripping the armrest of the settee until the wood seemed to crack under his fingers. He held his breath. "It hurt...but he was barely..._in_..." Mary glared at a chinese vase on the mantle piece, wishing that she could disappear for shame. "...and I looked up to find him laughing... as if my pain amused him, I don't know..."

Matthew panted, close to telling Mary to stop. Or he would end up smashing something in his mother's parlour. How could a man...supposedly a _gentleman,_ be so callous, so cruel? Hell, he remembered pitying the Turk when they heard of his death! Now he wished the bastard was still alive so he could lay his fingers around the pretty boy's neck and squeeze the lights out himself...

"It was over before it really began...he laughed and then I think he was about to move...but then I saw his eyes roll back in his head...and he cried out very oddly and..." Mary was shaking. The last time she had told this gruesome story had been to Anna, five minutes after it had occured.

"...and he was dead." she concluded, nearly collapsing into the settee. Talking about this had actually drained her completely. She was felt exhausted.

"Oh my darling." Matthew embraced her carefully and very gently caressed her blushing cheek. A sign of her shame, when there was nothing to be ashamed of. Mary had done nothing wrong, merely allowed this man to use her, because she was left with no choice. "He got what he deserved." he mumbled grimly.

Mary said nothing. At the time she had been so consumed by shock and her prior infatuation with Kemal that she had mourned his death and blamed herself entirely. Now, seen through Matthew's eyes, she could see what it had been truly like...

Kemal had not been her_ lover_, because he hadn't loved he at all. He had used her ill and in the end he got his dues. If he'd left her alone that night he might have lived...

"Be that as it may. What had happened...it has changed me." she said quietly, not daring to look at her fiancé. "I'm made different by it...impure..." Mary repeated what society had dictated should be assigned to the likes of her now. "Like _Tess of the D'Urbervilles_...to your Angel Clare!" she muttered, despair swinging in her tone.

To her infinite surprise Matthew smiled and bent down to kiss her again. "You're Juliet to my Romeo...Andromeda to my...seamonster." She swatted his shoulder and huffed. "Don't joke..don't make it little!" Mary grumbled, but his lips had already silenced her last protests.

She wanted to believe him so badly. And perhaps he was right. What had happened to her did not define or qualify who she was. Matthew had not turned away from her, had not despised her for it, because he loved her. Truly and honourably. And on their wedding night, they would be together as man and wife and it will be entirely different.

Because this time, it will be love...and not the lesser of two evils.

Matthew pulled back to regard his self-deprecating darling and was relieved to see her smile up at him. "I'm not joking." he shook his head. "No matter how much it may have changed you or made you _different_...you're _my _Mary, always."

It was clearly the right thing to say as he was instantly rewarded with the delicious feel of Mary's mouth on him. She nipped at the sensitive skin of his neck, grazing it with the tip of her tongue, then sucked at a reddened spot he would always get from shaving. "_God_." Matthew groaned and threw his head back onto the settee, exposing more of his skin to her heavenly attentions...

The door to the parlour opened just as Mary's soft lips glid over his throat, eliciting a helpless yelp from Matthew, who was far too delirious to notice that Molesley stood right behind them.

"Err...Mrs. Crawley, Sir." the mortified butler announced, his voice ever so slightly high-pitched, as if someone had just nibbled at _his_ adam's apple. From the hall way they could indeed hear the clicking of Isobel's boots on the floor. Mary, catching herself first, jumped away from her secret fiancé. "Matthew!" she hissed and jostled him a little.

"Oh, hello." Isobel greeted as she entered the room. With a pang of alarm, she watched Matthew struggle to compose himself. He was laying askew on the settee, panting so hard that his mother got worried. "Are you alright? Is it your lungs?" She quickly made over to where he sat next to Mary, who scrambled to pick up the letters in her lap, smirking at Isobel's clear misunderstanding.

"No, Mother...I'm..." Matthew didn't actually know how to explain himself, even if he were at liberty to speak about their engagement. Isobel ignored his protest and grabbed his wrist to feel his pulse and immediately grew more alarmed. "You're blood pressure is up..." The worried mother cried disapprovingly. "Has he been straining himself again?" she turned to Mary and was suddenly taken aback by the equally dishevelled state of the young woman. Mary's cheeks were rosy, her lips swollen and her fashionably pinned up hair seemed in mild disarray.

Isobel blinked, then pressed her wilted lips together to hide a grin. Apparently, Matthew was far from a relapse, quite the contrary. She had merely disrupted a 'tender moment'. Really, she could have guessed when Molesley had already acted more awkward than usual...

Since the couple didn't seem to own up to their relationship, for whatever reason, Isobel decided to let them off the hook and change the subject. "This came for you with the second mail." she handed her son a letter. From the war office...

Matthew glowing expression faltered instantly as he tried to tuck the letter out of sight. He knew what it would say, but he didn't want to confront this now. Not with Mary here and after they had spent such a loving and peaceful afternoon together. It would only spoil the evening. And who knows how many evenings they would get before he'd be gone again...

In fact it was only a week. And to Mary's complete outrage, Matthew was also 'released' from the new convalescent home, to make space for another soldier. In the end, it didn't make a huge difference, as she spent most of her days with him at Crawley House and outside in the village, when the weather allowed it. The Crawleys were also invited over for dinner most evenings.

All too soon, 2nd March arrived, the day before Matthew's return to the front. It coincided with the first tender bouts of spring in Yorkshire. And though it was still relatively chilly outside, the sun tempted the parting couple out for a picnic. It had been Matthew's idea. To spend his last hours completely alone with Mary, undisturbed and away from prying eyes.

The grounds of Downton were vast enough to provide plenty of escapes. They chose a spot further out, where they couldn't even hear the voices of the convalescents who played cricket on the lawn. The place was an old haunt of Mary's and her siblings, often frequented when they were children. A gnarly old oak stood next to a hedgerow of hazelnuts and other shrubs. On top of the ancient tree were the remains of a make-shift tree house, all covered in moss now. Matthew chuckled at the odd sight.

"You didn't build this." he stated in disbelief. "I did, too. Not alone of course. I got Carson to help us and he did." Mary said proudly. "I can well believe _that_." Matthew laughed, closing his arms around her from behind.

"Stop, darling. Someone might see..." Mary rebuffed his advances, though she giggled and made no move to actually push him off. "Papa had forbidden us to play here again after Patrick fell off and broke his wrist." she recounted, watching Matthew spread out his army top coat on the ground where their cousin had fallen over twenty years ago. It was odd to remember her first fiancé in such a moment...

"Come here." her present groom called as he patted the space in front of him on the coat. "Won't it get dirty?" she raised an eyebrow even as she knelt down on it. Matthew chuckled sadly and pulled her fully into his arms so that she leaned back into him and he reclined against the hard bark of the tree. "Doesn't really matter. It'll be sullied again by tomorrow evening anyways."

The reminder of his departure rendered them both miserable for a moment. Matthew's arms tightened around Mary's waist and she leaned back further to look up at him. "Do you want to hear something awful?" she asked, making him laugh again. "Always." he grinned down and put a quick kiss to her nose.

"In the past weeks, I've been thinking of ways to...injure you so that you'll stay here with me." Mary confessed. "Throwing a heavy book on your foot...shutting the door of the car on your hand...mixing something nasty into your food..."

Matthew bit his lip, not sure whether he was allowed to laugh, because his darling sounded so terribly serious. As ridiculous as her words were, he sucked them in greedily. Because they could only mean one thing...

Even if she could not say it in so many words...

"I love you, too." he whispered, then stopped her string of nonesensical ideas with a deep and loving kiss. Above their heads, a pair of larks were chirping gaily and the fragrant air of early spring whipped around their shuddering frames and through their hair. Mary sat up and resolutely tightened the scarf around Matthew's neck. In the end, she did not want him to become sick again, even if it might keep him here...

They ate sandwiches and strawberries, which Matthew had ordered from Mrs. Bird this morning. He savoured the adorable sight of Mary trying to catch a strawberry with her mouth that he held out and then drew back again, and the sweet sounds of her laughter when he did so. His mind recorded all these images, all these impressions, storing them away safely for the coming months.

"I want you to keep them." he said as he picked up the stack of unsent letters. There were only a few left that he hadn't read out to her yet. Mary wasn't sure if they should read them now. She didn't want him to be upset so shortly before his departure. "I only want to read this one out to you." He held up one of the envelopes. "Because I want you to hear this...from me."

Mary returned his smile, albeit with some trepidation. She readily let him draw her back into his embrace and felt Matthew sigh as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. He opened the envelope and cleared his throat. The birds above them seemed to fall silent.

_"Tonight, I write to you because I can no longer be silent. It's been two years since our parting. That makes 730 endless days without seeing your face, Mary. And tonight, I must confess. This last battle has been the end of everything I'd believed in and I'm now more convinced than ever that life on earth must be over very soon. My great luck will surely run very soon. We've lost so many in this one battle, so many in just one day. But it's not this war I want to tell you about, Mary, not tonight. I want to tell you what I know will be impossible to be spoken out when or rather if I see you again soon. Mary, I've managed to stay away these two years, but now I simply must return to you, at least this once. If only to look into your eyes one last time. To have one more conversation with you, to hear your laughing with me, or at me even, just one last time. It will be hard, my darling, but I can and will not leave this world without making sure that the one person I care about the most, doesn't hate me when I'm gone. Please Mary, don't be cold to me when I see you again. Please be kind and gentle, because my heart is still sore. I shall try my best to hide it, but if you perceive my pain, please don't turn away. I'm afraid of your reaction, Mary. I'm scared of your quick tongue and your sharp eye. Will you look right through me? What will you say to Lavinia? I haven't told you about her, because I don't think you will care very much, except that you may think me a fool for asking a girl I hardly know after only a week's acquaintance. Perhaps it was foolish, but I have finally understood that you have moved on. And that I must do the same. If you had written to me once...but perhaps it was for the better. One letter from you would have kept me in this state of madness forever. I must try and find consolation elsewhere, even if I know that I will never find what we could have had. But in Lavinia, I can at least find comfort and dignity. Without that, I wouldn't know how to face you again. So laugh at me if you will, Mary, think me a fool, but please, don't snub me. Lavinia is a kind, sweet girl. And yes, she distracts me from this war, and mostly she distracts me from you. Perhaps I will never be able to love her as I ought to, but she reminds me of that other life. The simple life I had been meant to live before I came to Downton, before I lost my heart and my head completely. I do not blame you, my darling, as I told you before. It's not your fault if you feel less for me than I feel for you. Love is not to be enforced or willed into existence. It is a given. Especially in these endless days of numbness and death, it is the only constant I am still able to feel, Mary. And if I die soon, I have at least written it out for you to see one day and know..._

_That I will love you, my dearest darling, until the last breath_ _leaves my body."_

Matthew actually drew a shaky breath as he folded the sheet of paper. It was trembling in his fingers. He'd felt Mary's reaction rather than seen or heard it. She was crying, very silently. Her body shook against his with controlled sobs. It touched him deeply, the care she took not to let him see her go to pieces.

Up until now, Mary had not believed that anything in these letters could be worse than Matthew's accounts of the trenches and the bloody battles he had only just survived. Turns out, she was wrong.

All these years, Matthew had suffered as badly as she had by their separation. Of course he had told her that he never stopped loving her, but to hear _this_ now...

Every time when they had seen each other since 1916, when he had introduced Lavinia to her, when he had been introduced to Evelyn as her fiancé, every trivial and meaningless conversation they had had about Downton and their family...

...all this time Matthew had been longing for her. As much as she had longed for him.

Wiping frantically at her eyes, Mary tried to compose herself and turned around. Matthew smiled almost shily when she faced him. She pulled herself up onto her knees and straddled his legs without shame. Matthew gulped, eyes wide. Leaning forward, Mary embraced him tightly with both arms around his shoulders and brushed her lips against his cold ear.

"Me too, my darling...me, too." She whispered softly, hoping he understood. Until the last breath left her body...

Dinner at eight was a subdued affair. Isobel and Matthew were of course invited to the great house as a take-leave for the young Captain. Perhaps due to the circumstance, Robert was as kind and fatherly to Matthew as he had ever been. And Matthew, not resentful by nature, accepted the gesture gratefully. There would be a time when they'd discuss the events of the past month, but certainly not now.

Before going over to the Granthams, Isobel had attempted to get a confession out of Matthew, regarding Mary. After what she had witnessed in London and at home, it was hardly a secret that the pair was back in love, but whenever asked about marriage, they only smiled evasively and changed the subject. Isobel knew she would soon gain a daughter, even if it was meant to be a secret for now.

Still, if it were only up to Matthew, there would be no secret at all. He longed to tell the whole world that Mary was his fiancée, only that he'd promised said fiancée that he'd keep his mouth shut. Mary in turn had promised that they would announce their betrothal as soon as their former engagements had been dissolved for at least three months. Matthew knew it was the decent thing to do and so, as aggravating as it may be, he kept silent, even on this last evening.

Now that Matthew's order had come through, there would have been not much sense in planning a wedding either way and their family would never allow them to have a spontaneous small ceremony at the local register.

Perhaps the war had changed him in these matters, but Matthew truly hated this emphasis on custom. Their family, society, their former fiancées...what did they all matter in the face of their late happiness, their_ brief_ happiness above all. _War has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter and the things that don't... _He'd written it to her in one of his letters. But the realities of society were still unshakable...

And after everything, Matthew still couldn't shake that nagging voice in the back of his mind, which kept warning him that he had been here before. In this exact place,with Mary, who would not officially own him as a fiancé...

But no. This time it was different. Mary was different. She had said yes. And she wore his ring, if only around her neck. Matthew knew from painful experience that it was futile, if not downright dangerous to put pressure on Mary. So if hurrying meant losing her, he'd rather wait in out patiently.

Nevertheless, he could not deny himself one or two bold moves on that last night. A hand lingering on the small of her back here, a longing glance there...it was impossible to miss the implications of his amorous conduct.

Over dinner, Mary saw Matthew's face light up in her direction ever so often, flushed and alert with evident affection. If he thought he could give them away by a wordless display of courtship, he was in for a disappointment. Here in the public eye, Mary remained politely unaffected by his ardent behaviour, though it was a struggle.

Robert tried to engage him in pleasant conversation, clearly meaning to compensate for his previous gruffness. One of Matthew's ears would simultaneously keep track of Mary's conversations...

"Why, Mary dear, you can't fool me. It's not as if you two are very subtle...so why hasn't he asked you..." Violet quietly interrogated her eldest grandchild, but Mary would not let her get into any depth of this particular topic. Of all her family, Granny was the one who would be least discrete about any news of their engagement...

"It's not that simplé...so please, don't embarrass us by pressing the matter." Mary dismissed her grandmother's meddling with such ease that Matthew could not help turning towards her, a look of accusation in his eyes.

Mary smiled at him apologetically and he knew she was truly sorry for this charade. Still, were they to part thus? Him put out and her blasé about it? Matthew felt inclined to excuse himself and take off in a huff, but of course, in the end nothing could induce him to give up even a second of being in Mary's company. At eleven, Isobel yawned behind her gloved hand, announcing that she was ready to go home, so there was no evading the inevitable evil.

They had to part.

"Well, now. You promise me to take better care of yourself this time. I don't have to repeat what a fright you gave us over Christmas. So good luck and be safe." Robert said, shaking Matthew's hand firmly. The young officer nodded and smiled, confident that he would try his best to make it home in one piece. And for the first time since he enlisted in this war, Matthew felt that had something he desperately wanted to come home to.

Unsurprisingly, the family appeared to withdraw a little when it came to the cousins' parting. Isobel had retreated to the waiting car already, giving them space as well.

"Don't forget me." Matthew said, smiling so sadly that it tugged at her heart. Mary took a step towards him, wishing to God they were all alone, so that she could do what she yearned for so badly...to embrace and kiss him properly, and with all her strength.

And to make him swear by everything that is holy to him that he will return to her safe and sound.

"Don't be angry with me." she whispered instead, mirroring his wan smile as she held out her hand. Matthew stared at it for a moment, then closed his own around her fingers and gasped. Underneath the shimmering créme satin glove, he could feel the ring he had given her. The diamond was turned towards the inside.

"You're wearing.." he whispered in awe, feeling his throat close up. "Yes." Mary smiled. "Always."

Matthew's grip on her hand turned painful as he struggled to hold back. How he wanted to pull her into his arms right now and lavish kisses on her. Sweet, loving kisses.

"I'll write to you." she whispered, the first tear already tumbling from her lash. Matthew itched to brush it away, so badly his hand ached. He swallowed hard, glancing at their audience for a split second, gauging how dangerous it would be to quickly brush his fingers...or better even, his lips over her cheek...

Everyone was sneaking furtive glances at them, expecting, hoping that something would pass that gave away their status. He had promised Mary to be discrete, and he would obey her.

"Please do." he replied, clearing his throat, thick and full of unspoken feelings. "I shall depend on it, you know...very much." Mary nodded and forced a more cheerful smile on her lips then. God, how much she would give to kiss him properly now. But that would be impossible, even if they had announced their engagement months ago.

Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from his tight grasp. Another second and she would embarrass herself fully by weeping in public. "Goodbye, then." Mary whispered.

Matthew's empty hand was suspended in the air, as if he hoped she would take it again. One more time. Give him a little bit more of her affection, of her touch. The car honked outside. "Goodbye, Mary." Matthew muttered, more than distraught that she would not...could not kiss him. He exhaled heavily, then turned to leave, pulling his army coat tighter around himself. The night was still cold...

In the car, Isobel had the gall to inquire after his parting with Mary. "She will miss you terribly, I am sure." the concerned mother said, trying to console her son, who looked as white as a sheet.

"She better." Matthew said morosely, but would not repeat himself when Isobel asked what he had mumbled.

Neither of them slept a wink that night and Matthew rose before the sun. Duty called and he had to shut out this emotional side of his again. It was more difficult than ever. While he stomped down the village road to Downton station, Matthew was still miffed about this unsatisfying goodbye scene the night before.

What if something happened, and Mary's last words to him had been 'Goodbye, then.' No 'I love you's, no 'I'll miss you's, no 'I can't live without you's. Nothing. Just 'Goodbye, then.', as if he went on a business trip and would be back within a week.

He knew it was childish to crave some big romantic scene under these circumstances, but he could not help being a little depressed by Mary's reserve. As he stepped onto the platform of Downton train station that morning, he tried to shake off the petty feelings and remember the blissfully happy days he had spent with Mary instead.

This mattered and nothing else...

The train was ready to take off, but Matthew did not want to go aboard quite yet. Perhaps it was desperate, but he kept looking up and down the empty platform. Two years ago, he'd seen her in this exact spot, standing in the mist of the early morning. With her beautiful sad eyes and a small gift for him...

If she loved me, she would be here now, a mean little voice inside his head argued, though he tried to beat it down. She said she loved me and she wears my ring, he argued fiercely to shut up that eternal voice of doubt.

The conductor blew his whistle for the last passengers to get onto the train. Matthew's heart sank and with a sigh of resignation, he opened the door to the First Class compartment and stepped on...

Two surprisingly strong arms pulled him back. He turned in shock to find Mary, her arms clinging around his neck from behind. She was sleepy and dishevelled looking, her hair provisionally pinned up under her hat. Matthew had never seen anything more beautiful, nor had he ever felt so much love as he felt in this instant...

"Oh God.." he groaned, clasping Mary to him. "You came...oh my darling! " The words tumbled from his lips unthinkingly, but in this moment he did not care whether anyone heard them, or saw them for that matter. Even if Mary got angry now, he did not care.

And he kissed her, deeply, hungrily, with all the despair of a departing lover. "Of course I came, Matthew. Did you think I would have let you go like this? " Mary whispered tearfully, then indulged him with another kiss. The conductor blew his whistle sharply. Apparently, he had halted the departure of the train for the couple's goodbye, but it was past the hour now and the train would be late.

"You must go." Mary pressed out, yet she made no move to release him. "My darling, will you remember me? Will you think of me every day?" Matthew wanted to know, as childish as it was.

"I will." Mary promised eagerly, then finally let go of his shoulders. She wiped at her eyes and turned very serious. "And you will be very careful. You _will _come back to me." Her words were not a request, they were an order.

Matthew smiled lovingly at her. "I will." Of course he could not make promises, it was a war after all, but he would be extremely careful from now on, because now he had the best reason for it. To return to her...

The conductor was about to push him onto the train now, as he still hesitated to let go of Mary, clinging to her form with a tenacity that made Mary laugh and the conductor shift impatiently. Just one more second, Matthew thought. One more kiss...

"Sir, if you please, we've to take off." the poor conductor urged with stern kindness.

At last, Matthew heeded. He could not have wished for a better send-off, never have imagined it. When the door to the compartment closed, he immediately opened a window and stretched out his hand for hers."Goodbye, my darling. I'll miss you terribly." Mary cried then laughed again at his eagerness.

"Goodbye, Mary. Write as much as you can. I want to know about everything, my darling, everything you do in my absence!" Matthew called, ignoring the man in the back of his compartment, who laughed in obvious derision at these romantic overtures.

Outside, Mary nodded and pressed his hand one last time, unwilling to let go. As the train started to move, their fingers had to part and Mary felt like screaming. "I'll miss you so much." she called again after him, trying to put on a brave face, when the train gathered speed. Matthew still held his head out of the window, refusing to sit until he saw the last bit of her. He took off his cap and waved. "I'll miss you too!" he roared back at Mary, hoping she could still hear it.

The man in the background snickered again. Finally, the horizon had swallowed the train station and Mary's figure with it. Matthew still felt giddy with joy as he sat down, riding high on this most perfect goodbye he'd received. Mary loved him, he was sure of it now, sure that he was not dreaming any of this. It was real, Mary and him, engaged to be man and wife!

Making himself more comfortable in his seat, Matthew leant his head back and sighed deeply.

"Newly wed?" the impertinent passenger asked once he had sobered from his mirth. Matthew looked over to where the voice came from. A young man, albeit not a soldier, as he was dressed in civil. Well dressed, to be precise. He was handsome...and somehow, the man looked oddly familiar, though Matthew could not specifically place him.

"We're engaged." Matthew clarified, finding it hard to keep the note of pride out of his voice.

"Ah, yes." the stranger said, "I've been engaged once, though the bride was not half as enthusiastic about it as yours seems to be." There was a hint of a sneer in the man's tone that Matthew caught but decided to ignore...like the rest of this ominous person.

Instead, he took out a small package that Mary had given to him two days ago, but made him promise not to open before he'd arrived back at the front. His fingers ached to tear open the paper and spy inside, but he'd promised his darling and he would never cheat.

As the train took them south, Matthew took his little stuffed war companion out of his coat pocket and absent-mindedly played with one of the dog's ears while he watched the trees speed past the window. Behind his mind's eye, he replayed the beautiful scene at Downton station over and over...

The nosy stranger had left the train in London. Matthew didn't even notice. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Mary and he felt completely at peace...

...at least until that evening, when the French mud had him again. Captain Crawley was back at the front, to lead his men through the another year of shelling, mustard gas and senseless carnage...

That same night also saw Mary kneeling beside her bed again, the photograph of Matthew held tenderly in her stiff fingers, where a new engagement ring glittered in the sparse light of the room. Her prayer was an old one...

"_I beg you to keep him safe."_

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_**A/N: *Sob* Argh, sorry I had to part them again! The next update will hopefully come more swiftly. Thanks for reading and reviews would of course be lovely as always :)** _


	30. Chapter 30

**_ A/N:_ **Hello dear readers! First off, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews to the last chapter, you guys keep me so happy and motivated while I'm writing this! And I can't believe we're on Chapter 30 already! Well, in this instalment we're fast-forwarding a few months, war epistolary-style, so we'll get closer to the end of the war. Hope you enjoy :)

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**_Amiens, 3rd March 1918_**

_My darling Mary, _

_It feels odd to write to you, knowing that I will actually send off this letter. My darling, I don't know where to begin. Thank you for seeing me off that morning. I don't believe you realize how important it was to me. Being back here is as uncomfortable as ever, but everything is sweetened by the memories you gave me these past two months. Shortly after arrival, I made the rounds of my regiment and was shocked to see how many men have been 'replaced' in my absence. So many of them died, while I was safe and happy at home. I tried to think of your words, Mary, about feeling responsible. You were right, I have no power over any of this. My men were lost even without me being the one who told them to go over and fight. We're all replaceable in this war, we all mean nothing in this. Oh my darling, I can't tell you how much I needed that package you gave me. Especially after today. I didn't open it before I got here, I swear! And I'm still grinning rather stupidly at this little drawing and don't worry, I keep it hidden in my breastpocket. For my eyes only! I haven't read the poems yet, because I wish to savour them for another night. I can't thank you enough for these gifts. And to know that you've made them, only for me. William Mason has already eyed my treasure trove when it was unpacked and I took the liberty of sharing some of the treats with him, as I am sure you will approve. Please write back soon, my dearest. I shall depend on it very much. _

_Yours always, _

_Matthew Crawley _

**_Downton Abbey, 10th April 1918_**

_Dearest Matthew, _

_I fear that I have exhausted the topic of our mothers' squabbles in my last three letters and not much else to report from here. Granny is cold-shouldering me because I have 'let another chance go by', by which she means you. I believe you were right. We should have told them while you were home, neverminding what people would say. Now it is rather more difficult, after sneaking around for so long. Everyone has guessed it already, but I shall wait for your next leave when we can announce it together. Needless to say that I long for your return every day and every night. Matthew, I'm so scared for you. I know that I shouldn't mention this, considering where you are and what you must go through, but you asked me to write whatever is on my mind. And this is it. I feel so useless sitting here, without nothing feasible to do. Whenever Papa gets a telegram or the mail, I get so afraid that it may be bad news. During the day, I try to distract myself and help with the convalescents, though the work is not exactly to my taste. You know me, darling. I'm not a nurse by nature. Still, it takes my mind off a little. Only at night, when I read your letters and imagine where you must be now, I can do nothing but dwell on the question whether you are safe or not. Please forgive my complaints, quite uncalled for in light of your more pressing worries. Just come back to me very soon, my darling. And don't be silly, Matthew, of course I miss you a lot. This ridiculous letter should be proof enough. If you were with me now, I'd kiss you most heartily. _

_Yours, _

_Mary Crawley_

_**Amiens, 28th April, 1918** _

_My darling Mary, _

_Be calm, dearest. I don't want you to be burdened by fear. I mean it. Try to distract yourself if it helps, but don't allow Mother to rope you into any work that you don't want to do. I shall write to her if needs be. My darling, to imagine that you think of me at night, well, nothing could keep me warmer and happier even in this muddy hole. Regarding our engagement, of course you don't need to wait for me to announce it. Please do. I shall be very glad to know that everyone in Britain has heard that you'll be mine. But seriously, __I am not solely arguing for my own satisfaction here, but for the sake of others who are worried and even put out, like your grandmother. My own mother also keeps nagging me about you in her letters, as if she had no greater concern with her only son at war. Don't you think you should put them __(and me) __ out of their misery before my next visit? You have no idea how I'm yearning for a chance to see you. Oh Mary, if only it was all over and I could be with you every day and every night. __Waiting feels like an eternity and every moment here seems to pass slower than the previous one. If only I had a (__wedding) __ date set into my calendar to focus on, but instead, it feels like a million years until I can finally call you my own. Think of me, my darling, the more you do, the better I'll feel here. Always remember that there is someone who loves you very much and can barely keep his feet still with anticipation of holding you in his arms again. And please complain to me as much as you wish, Mary, I want to know what bothers you, no matter what it is. Tonight when I go to sleep, I'll try to imagine kissing you, my darling. Sleep well and sweet dreams. _

_Yours forever, _

_Matthew Crawley_

**_Downton Abbey, 1st May 1918_**

_Darling Matthew, _

_I will tell you the truth now. The real reason why I don't want to tell anyone, why I am terrified of setting a date, well, it's terribly silly. But here it is. Remember what you said in your old letters about 'tempting fate'? If I think of our wedding too much, Matthew, I fear that something terrible might happen and I know it's idiotic really, but there you have it. And before you laugh at me or call me mad, please recall that you always carry my lucky charm on you, so I'm not the only superstitious person here! Besides, I have already told three people, so don't think I'm any good at keeping my mouth shut. Sybil knows, and Edith too, after they rummaged through my jewellery case and found the ring. They are very happy for us, though Sybil still maintains that elopement would have been the best option for everyone. Poor darling, she misses Tom so much. Don't worry, your mother hasn't attempted to boss me around yet, though Mama and Granny are hatching a plot against her, I'm afraid. You may want to warn Isobel. Aunt Rosamund has invited me and Edith up to London for the summer season. I'm not sure whether I should go, what do you reckon? Any news on when you may get your next leave? Yesterday, another group of injured soldiers arrived here. I do try to help, but to be honest, whenever I see them, all I can think of is that this may also happen to you. Please, Matthew, don't be a hero, don't put yourself in more danger than is absolutely necessary! Write to me whenever you find the time, even if it's only a short note. It calms me down to hear from you, my darling, until I have you safe back in my arms, which can't be soon enough. _

_Your impatient fiancée,_

_Mary Crawley_

**_Amiens, 7th May 1918_**

_My darling Mary, _

_Thank you, dearest, for your letter. If anything can lift my spirits here it is this evidence that you actually exist, and that my Mary is thinking of me. Rest assured, I am as careful as possible and certainly won't try to be a hero. Today, I can only drop you a short line, but you said that even a short letter would be appreciated. Mary, I understand your worries about setting a date before you know whether I'm coming back. Perhaps I will just have to kidnap you on my next leave and we'll elope after all. How about that? Surely, your sisters would cover for us. Of course I'm only joking, my darling. You deserve the most beautiful wedding and I hope to be able to give you that at least. You haven't told me who the third person is, whom you have told about our betrothal. Has your Granny wheedled it out of you after all? London sounds, well, interesting. If you'd like to go, then go, Mary. Have some fun and distract yourself. Do you wear my ring once in a while, darling? You know, I keep your picture against my heart, and our little dog is safely tucked in my pocket at all times. With any luck, I may be back by your side sometime soon. Truly Mary, I'm glad you will have some fun, for your deserve it, you deserve everything that is beautiful and good in this world. I pray that one day this war is over and I shall be able to offer you everything you've hoped for in life. __I love you more than I can say, my darling. Please, do take good care of yourself in the city. _

_Your fiancé who misses you excessively,_

_Matthew Crawley_

**_Downton Abbey, 20th May 1918_**

_Dearest Matthew, _

_I'm sitting on our bench outside while I write this. And I keep imagining you sitting right next to me, so that I could kiss you while I tell you my news in person. So much has occured in the past two weeks. Isobel and Mama have fallen out completely. As a result your mother has quit Downton. I'm sure she's written to you about it already. I spoke to her, but she was determined to go to France. You asked me who else I've told about our engagement besides my sisters. Well, last month, I've had a letter from Evelyn. He was in a hospital in Middlesborough and asked whether he could come to Downton to recuperate. I told him that he was of course welcome, and I am sure you don't mind. He's been nothing but gracious about us and I did tell him that we are engaged to be married. He congratulated me and promised to keep it to himself for now. So obviously, I haven't left for London yet. Sybil is begging Papa to let her go to town instead, without any success. I just hope there won't be another spat. Matthew, I miss you more than you can imagine. And of course I think of you, not just once in a while. Every night I pray for you to come back to me safe and sound . Evelyn said that the war must come to a close eventually, perhaps this year or the next. If only it were over tomorrow! Please be very careful, my darling. I know you try, but from your letters I know how many dangers there are, more than I can even consider at once, which may be a good thing, as it's driving me mad. If you were next to me on our bench now, I'd kiss you so fiercely and put my head against your chest just to hear how your heart beats, to know that you're alive and well. That's what I dream of at night, and imagine all day, Matthew, to have you back in my arms. _

_Yours always, _

_Mary Crawley_

**_Amiens, 25th May, 1918_**

_My darling Mary, _

_I, too, imagine being with you all the time. When I wake, before I go to sleep. And all too often when I ought to concentrate on other matters. But do not worry, my love, I'm doing my best to keep my head here. It's very hard these days and to be honest, from your last letter I gather that being invalided out and shipped to Downton might be just the thing. Poor Sybil, I can see how she would prefer being in London at the moment. Maybe you should go with her? As surely there is nothing keeping you at Downton now, is there? I have great hopes of getting some leave next month, but I'd rather not make any promises. We've just lost a sergeant amongst many other good men. My darling, would you do me a favour? Sergeant Wilcox, who came in for Stevens, well his wife has sent him something the other day and I've been wondering if perhaps I might ask you for something similar. Perhaps a handkerchief of yours, but with your scent on it. Not perfumed, but as if you've worn it close to your heart. Please, don't be offended and if you'd rather not, I understand. I've read your poems the other day, Mary, and I'm already eager for more. My darling, I can't even begin to express how beautiful your words are to me, how precious and uplifting. They keep me human (and sane) when things get particulary grim down here. I'd once heard that you were writing poetry, but I'd imagined it to be addressed to, well, someone else. And so he's at Downton now, and lucky enough to be in your care? Well, you are a wonderful nurse. I try not to envy him too much and I honestly hope he's not badly injured. Please give him my best wishes that he may get well (and go home) soon. I'm sorry, I know it's childish to be jealous of him, especially since he's been injured. He's done his duty and deserves nothing but respect and some peace to recover. I'm being very silly tonight, forgive me. It's just, __I love you, Mary, so terribly much. Please don't forget it, and please don't forget me, my darling. _

_Your envious fiancé, _

_Matthew Crawley_

_**London, 2nd June, 1918** _

_Dearest darling Matthew, _

_Is it very bad of me that your last letter made me laugh a little? Because you are being silly. Rest assured that Captain Napier is in very efficient hands, albeit not in mine. For some reason, Edith has made it her priority to see to all the officers' welfare and so she has also become quite indispensable to Evelyn in the process, believe it or not. I saw them poring over the newspapers together the other morning and discussing current affairs. So you see, my heart is still firmly in your hands, Matthew, don't you worry. Isobel has come back last week and I have a feeling you may have something to do with it, since she mentioned that you'd written to her. She and Mama have somehow managed to come up with a plan to share the task of running Downton. Granny is certain that Mama has only relented so that she may be free to come to London with us for a few weeks. In the meantime, Granny herself intends to keep your mother in her place and I dare say she is looking forward to the task. We arrived in London two days ago. And it's frightfully tedious here without you, Matthew. Remember that season in 1914 we spent together in town? How much fun we had together, even at the most boring gatherings. You've always made it special for me, no matter where we were. Yesterday, we were invited to the Greys. He's my godfather, if you might remember. Sybil had to endure their son Larry who for some unfathomable reason was deemed 'unfit' for military service four years ago. As far as I recall, he's healthy as a horse. Used to play a lot of rugby in college. Papa said it may have something to do with his great uncle being a doctor. Sybil was being more gracious about it, perhaps because Tom has also been called unfit for service. Matthew, I know it isn't right, but it makes me so furious that you have to be over there, while others are here, enjoying themselves. Myself included. You talked of being envious in your last letter. Well, I feel the same when I see Sybil secretly meeting Tom in the gardens of Grantham House at night (and she keeps quoting Romeo and Juliet all day, which is rather annoying) or even when I see Edith flirting with the officers at Downton. I don't mean to sound accusatory, I know you're only doing your duty and it is so very brave of you, but I miss you more every day, Matthew. Enclosed in this letter, you'll find what you've been asking for. A bit odd, to be honest, but I've sent it either way. Goodnight, my darling and please, please do take good care of yourself. _

_Your fretting fiancée, _

_Mary Crawley_

**_Amiens, 10th June, 1918_**

_My dearest love, _

_Thank you ever so much for the token, it's exactly what I'd been wishing for. It has joined our little dog and our picture as my most important gear. I'm more heavily armed with things of yours now than I am with weapons. I must confess that I am glad to hear your sisters are so happily preoccupied. You're not jealous of Edith now are you? Even if everyone else around you is blissful and content, you should know, my darling, that there is no woman in England, who is more loved and more longed for than you are. When I sit here in the muck, Mary, I imagine sitting under that tree again with you in my arms and for just one moment it seems real. And it gives me peace in all this madness, to know that you are safe and very comfortable in your warm bed. So you must never feel guilty about that. And is it very bad of me, my love, that I sometimes enjoy the idea that you are 'fretting' about my absence? I'm sorry, it's very selfish of me. I should wish you happy and I do. Truly. Do enjoy your time in London, you deserve to have fun after the upheaval at Downton. I must end my letter here, I'm afraid. We're rather busy for a change. I love you, my Mary. Very, very much. Never forget that. _

_Your awfully selfish fiancé, _

_Matthew Crawley _

* * *

With a heavy sigh, Mary put the letter back into its envelope to store it safely away with the others.

Her brow was creased in worry. 'Busy', what did that mean? A campaign? Battle? Probably...

A shudder of fear ran down her spine like an icy shower. _Please keep him safe please keep him safe __please keep him safe please keep him safe please keep him safe..._

Mary even prayed it during the day now, like a constant spiral in her head that never ended. In all the previous war years, she'd often thought of Matthew, where he was and how he fared, but there was also Evelyn, whom she had exchanged letters with and feared for.

Now, there was nothing that could possibly distract her from worrying about the man she loved more than she cared to admit. Because now he was hers. Hers to worry about, hers to write letters to, hers to sent packages with wooly socks and chocolate and other trifles that were so trivial but seemed to mean the world to him...

Yes, Matthew was her man now, even if barely anyone knew about it. She had contemplated telling them one night over dinner, but even Sybil had warned her off. "Keep it to yourself, don't let them meddle into it." she had said bitterly, clearly referring to her own miserable situation with Tom.

And some part of Mary actually enjoyed having this little secret. A wonderful secret that she shared with Matthew alone.

Tonight, the Granthams were invited to an evening party in Grosvenor Square. Mary went only grudgingly to these social events, but since most of them were still in aid of the war effort, she felt that it was her duty to participate. It was the least she could do to support Matthew these days.

It had been a boring affair to begin with, as everything in London turned out to be when Matthew wasn't around. Nevertheless, one surprise did occur. Mary had not expected to meet an old beau of hers whom she had last seen at Ascot in 1911.

Anthony Gillingham. Lord Gillingham now, as he had been quick to point out. His father had died two years ago. Apart from that he was also Captain of the Devons, currently stationed at Ypres.

"I'm on leave until next week." he informed her, smiling in the same charming manner Mary remembered so well. In fact, she remembered it as if it were yesterday. The season of 1910. Her debut and her first dance with this handsome dark-haired Earl's son, whose smoldering brown eyes had made her knees weak.

Back when she was eighteen, Mary had believed him to be the sort of man she would wish to marry one day. Superior, well-bred, extremely attractive and posh to the bone. He had certainly known how to hold his knife on their first dinner together...

"Have I said something funny?" Anthony inquired, his black eyebrows slightly pinched as he perceived Mary's faraway look and hidden grin. "Not at all." she shook her head.

No, Anthony had never said anything particularly funny. He'd been the sort of man to be seen with, not a man to laugh with. As Mary blinked at her own image reflected back in the dark eyes of this boring Adonis, she wished to God that she'd be staring into icy blue ones instead...

"My mother has told me that you have broken your engagement with the Branksomes..." Gillingham remarked. Mary fought the urge to roll her eyes and took a hearty sip from her sherry to deflect from her bout of annoyance.

That's how it always was in London – the Branksomes, the Gillinghams, the Granthams – one was never engaged to a person, only to a name. She wondered how he would react if she told him that she was now promised to an unknown middle-class lawyer from Manchester...

"Well..if you're unspoken for, I may take the liberty of asking to spend some more time with you? Perhaps I could call in tomorrow and we might go for a walk in the park..." He leaned slightly forwards, fixing Mary with what he must deem to be his most disarming smoulder...

Mary smiled politely and cocked her head aside. There had been a time many years ago, when she would have jumped at this offer and felt a great flutter of excitement at the prospect.

"Thank you. But I'm already engaged...elsewhere." she said. Gillingham's brows contracted. "How unfortunate." he replied drily and took an almost imperceptible step backwards.

It was only then that he perceived someone standing close behind Mary. And he was staring at him.

"May I help you..." Gillingham addressed the person haughtily, then recognized the regimentals. "Captain?" The stranger smiled serenely then, his eyes on Mary. "No, thank you. I have all I need...right here."

A very familiar voice caressed Mary's ears, causing her to spin around so quickly that some of her sherry spilled onto the man who stood so close behind her. Looking up, she found the clear blue eyes that she had yearned for and was practically devoured by them. They stared at each other for a long moment, taking in what they had been deprived of all these months.

Gillingham, feeling ignored, turned to find out where Lady Rose had disappeared to...

"My darling..." Matthew whispered, barely able to keep his arms pinned to his sides. Meeting again in a public place had been a very dim idea to say the least. They couldn't embrace or kiss. Not even speak openly...

"If we don't find a place to hide right this moment, I will kiss you in front of London's finest society." Matthew whispered hoarsely, stepping so close to Mary that she felt the warmth of his body against her skin. A shiver crept down her spine. She nodded.

They stole into an empty side room, unlit and unheated. But Mary was only cold for about two seconds, before Matthew had her in a tight embrace, devouring her lips like a starving man. She clutched at the lapels of his mess kit, careful not to get her hands into his hair, as she was sure to mess it up in a very tell-tale fashion.

Matthew whimpered softly into her mouth. There were so many things they wanted to say, but they simply could not drag their lips off each other for long enough to make conversation. Surely, there will be a time for that later, but for now, they were feasting.

All their misery and loneliness was swallowed up in this kiss and as Mary clutched his heaving shoulders, she could finally believe it. Matthew was back with her. In one piece. "My darling." he panted breathlessly. If only they could stay locked together like this forever. Mary's head spun as she eagerly parted her lips for him, for his tongue, his lips, his teeth, his words of love.

Oh how she had missed him, from his intense blue eyes to his warm male scent...

Matthew was sure that she had no clue how much he needed her kiss in this moment. To draw him back into this world and away from the hell he had just left behind. Holding her, touching, smelling, tasting Mary once again...it was the only thing that could make him feel alive again.

And it worked. Every time. He was back. He was Matthew again. _Mary's Matthew. _

God, how much he loved her. His beautiful, strong, wonderful Mary. His darling, his everything and he was back in her arms again, safe and loved and _sane_...

"Pardon me!"

The loud, penetrating voice resonated like a whip crack in the empty room. Neither of them had taken notice of the stranger, who had followed them, nor of his attempts at getting their attention, which had grown from a polite clearing of the throat to this ungainly bark.

When had the lights been switched on, Matthew wondered, less embarrassed than one would expect at being caught in such a compromising position. He stared at the intruder for a second, then at Mary, who had suddenly stiffened in his arms.

Matthew himself was taken aback when he saw the shock etched into her features. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. "My love..." He whispered, stroking anxiously over her pallid cheek with the back of his fingers. The gesture seemed to jerk Mary out of her horrified trance.

"How..." she tried, still eyeing the stranger as if he were the most shocking sight in the history of mankind. Matthew looked back at the man with more focus.

He'd seen him before. Or, had he?

The man smiled sheepishly, fixing on Mary. He chuckled as if her reaction amused him greatly. "Aren't you at least a little bit happy to see me, Mary?" he asked and took a small step towards her. Matthew instinctively stepped in to shield her from this curious phantom.

"Who are you?" he demanded, sounding perhaps more hostile than the situation warranted, but he could not help himself. It was clear that the stranger scared Mary and that was sufficient reason to be rude...

The man's green eyes tightened as he appraised Matthew in his mess kit, flicking from the scar on his brow and the menacing glare in his unnervingly blue eyes. He held his hands up in a gesture of appeasement. "No need to get all tense. We'll talk later." The man said at last, then turned around on his black laquered heels and disappeared back into the hubbub of the party.

The ground underneath Mary's feet seemed to shift, as if the stones had become wobbly all of a sudden. When she tried to take a step, Matthew had to catch her before she could hit the solid floor.

"There you are." a more familiar voice called over Matthew's shoulder. Robert had arrived on the spot and took Mary's other arm. "We're leaving." he panted. Matthew's worry increased by leaps and bounds as he perceived the sheen of sweat on his elder cousin's forehead. The colour of his sallow cheeks changed in the most extraordinary fashion from chalky pale to beefy red and back.

"I ordered the driver. Get into the car. Now, Matthew." Lord Grantham ordered his heir, before he exchanged one significant glance with Mary. A mutual understanding of shock and confusion.

"Tell me what happened?" Matthew demanded as he followed them back through the crowd towards the entrance. Mary would not look at him however, and he tried not to dwell on that fact.

"Later, Matthew. I have to find Cora and the girls." Robert barked and disappeared again in search of his wife and younger daughters.

Though it was a mild summer night, Matthew felt Mary shake ever so slightly when they stepped outside. They hurried towards the motor, parked outside on the street and climbed in. The dark and quiet interior of the car was calming. Being alone again, he pulled Mary protectively against his chest and she did not resist, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

He kissed her forehead, but when he asked again where her agitation stemmed from, Mary pressed her lips together, stubbornly refusing to give a reply. Matthew was sure she was in shock.

"Hello again." Someone greeted from the darkest corner of the car. They gasped and jumped in unison. Mary frowned this time and Matthew could feel how fury seemed to slowly take over from shock in her constitution.

He himself had an angry curse on the tip of his tongue when the door to his left was wrestled open again and the rest of the family bustled into the vehicle. Cora was clutching Edith's hand, who appeared even more disturbed than Mary.

It was difficult to make out facial expressions in the darkness as they drove off, but Matthew thought he could see distinctive frowns on Robert's and Violet's faces. "Where is Sybil?" Mary inquired, as she sat up straighter in her seat.

Matthew reluctantly released her from his grasp, though he cared little about propriety at this point. "She's coming later...with Rosamund." Robert said curtly. There was no more conversation during the short drive it took to reach Grantham House.

As soon as the car pulled up at the entrance, Edith burst forth with a howl and thrust the door open, half knocking out the driver who came to open it for them. Matthew tried to help Mary out, but she would not touch his offered hand. He tried not to dwell on this either.

Robert came to lay a hand on Matthew's shoulder then. "Go on in. We'll follow. Please don't ask me now." he said grimly, seeing the questions burning in Matthew's blue glare. Had it not been for Mary waiting at the stairs to the town house, Matthew would have put up a stink about being kept in the dark.

What farce was being played here? As if there were some terrible secret everyone was aware of, except him...

Matthew breathed hard and glanced back at Mary, the pleading look in her chocolate eyes, and her left hand held out for him to take at last. It was too tempting an offer to resist and so he followed her up into the house. Inside the lavish drawing room of Grantham House, an argument had ensued between Violet and Cora, whether or not to send Edith upstairs to bed, because she seemed unable to cease her bawling.

The sharp contrast between Edith's almost hysterical, red-faced fit and Mary's pale quiet shock was more than disconcerting. Matthew shook his head. Had someone died that he didn't know of?

"Sit down with me." Mary whispered softly to him. "Mary..." Cora turned to her, full of concern as she saw her eldest daughter take a seat on the nearest ottoman with Matthew. "Yes, Mama." she replied stiffly and left it at that. She had let go of Matthew's hand and was playing nervously with the sash of her elegant blue silk robe.

An air of unbearable anticipation weighed heavily on the room and its occupants. At last, they heard footsteps. Two pairs of heels clicked on the floor. Robert entered the room first, followed by the fancy stranger.

The former looked ready to explode with rage and some unfathomable emotion, while the latter smiled tentatively his breathless audience. He cleared his throat through the awkward silence that no one seemed ready or willing to break.

Except Matthew who could not sit still any longer and finally lost his patience. "Would someone _please _explain to me what is being played here?" he said loudly, addressing Robert as head of the family.

"Yes, I believe one introduction is in order." The stranger commented, smiling benignly at Matthew now.

Robert shook his head, almost stubbornly, and turned towards the fireplace. At long last, it was Mary who rose and took a step towards the mysterious man, whose smile widened, a glint in his green eyes. Without missing a beat, Matthew followed her, restraining himself from taking Mary's arm.

Mary cleared her throat. "May I introduce..." She glanced at Matthew, then nodded towards the phantom, "...our cousin, Patrick Crawley."

* * *

**A/N:** Heeeh, sorry for that one, but since it's an S2 AU I couldn't resist bringing him in! Sure you've seen it coming already after the hints in Chapter 29 ;) Well, we shall see how everyone reacts to the return of the 'real' heir and a big event is on the horizon...


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N:** Hello there! As always, many many thanks for all the lovely and insightful reviews! You guys and your ongoing support really keep this story going, I couldn't do it without you :)

Wow I'm actually flabbergasted that some imagined Mary might end up picking Patrick over Matthew! Really? Not even Canon-Mary would have taken Patrick, not (quote Anna) 'when it came down to it'. So let me assure you that this is and will definitely remain an M/M fic.

About Patrick though. When I planned out TeD, I already meant to bring him up. P. was imo an underrated factor of canon S2 and another bit I wanted to explore in this story. And well, as some reviewers have also pointed out nicely, for Matthew to 'lose' the entail again (though you know the story isn't quite over yet...) would also show just how far Mary has moved on from wanting Downton above anything else to wanting Matthew more than Downton. It's an important step for her, so yeah. But honestly, you can trust me, this is an Angst/Romance AU that will end in M/M happiness, I promise :)

Lastly, err, light Smut-Warning! Since I was asked so very nicely by a reader, I did include a bit of an *ahem* 'improper' bedtime scene in this chapter. Nothing huge, but I hope you enjoy ;-)

* * *

**Chapter XXXI**

Patrick had heard a lot about his cousin Matthew from various sources over the past years:

_Middle-class. A lawyer. Specialized in industrial law. Doctor's son. Grew up in Manchester. Cambridge educated. Terribly clever. Handsome enough. A do-gooder. Dutiful. Honorable. Kind. Gentlemanly. Loyal. Half-orphaned. Lives with his mother. Well-liked. Modest. Active. Stubborn. Likes his work. A favourite with Lord Grantham. Madly in love with Lady Mary. One of the first to enlist. Lieutenant. Promotion to Captain. Engaged to Miss Lavinia Swire. Dis-engaged to Miss Lavinia Swire. Sick in the trenches. Pneumonia. Stole Lady Mary from Evelyn Napier. Evidently engaged to Mary Crawley in March 1918 at Ripon train station..._

...Oh, yes. He'd witnessed that last one for himself.

"How do you do?" Patrick extended a perfectly manicured hand towards his cousin and mentally added 'occasionally rude' to his catalogue of characteristics for Matthew Crawley, who merely stared at him open-mouthed. He lowered his unshaken hand and nodded, his perfectly trained smile only faltering for a second.

"Of course this must be quite a shock to you." Patrick said earnestly and glanced around at the others. "To all of you." The only reaction was an indignant huff on Violet's part. Everyone stared at him. "And I don't blame you for how you..." he went on, but was quickly cut over by an outraged Robert.

"Blame...blame _us_?" Lord Grantham roared. "Are you raving mad? You go missing for six years, no word, no sign from you. And you think you can just walk in here as if it had been nothing but jolly fun and turn everything upside down?" Cora put a soothing hand to her husband's arm, worried that he might give himself a stroke.

"I told you, Robert, there were certain circumstances that made it difficult for me to..." Robert looked apoplectic. "How difficult can it be to just drop one single line like 'I'm alive.' There are telegraphs, telephones, the bloody post! Don't take us for fools, Patrick!"

The silence that followed this outburst was sharply broken by Edith's continued sobbing and Carson's announcement of Lady Rosamund and Lady Sybil. "Is it true?" the former burst out upon entering the room.

Matthew knew there was absolutely no doubt about the identity of the man, as every single Crawley had the same reaction to him. Disbelief and shock, followed by rage. "Well, now that we are all together, I propose that our 'prodigal son' should tell us exactly his story, so we can try and understand." Violet sniffed, eyeing Patrick with evident distaste, though not without interest.

"Thank you, Cousin Violet." Patrick replied with a small bow to the old Lady. "Perhaps, Carson, you should bring some drinks? I think we could all do with a small tipple." he addressed to the butler.

"No, not for you." Robert snapped. "And you don't issue orders to my staff! Not as long as I am still standing. Carson, Matthew and I will have a whiskey, and bring whatever the Ladies wish for." His Lordship ordered more gently as his glance brushed Matthew's, in a silent plea to stay calm.

"Very well, Sir." Carson said, shooting Patrick a dubious eye. The servants would surely know about this turn of events in no time. Good, Mary thought, then Anna will be prepared for her rant later.

The clock struck eleven when they had all settled down to hear Patrick Crawley's story. Robert had heard most of it already at the party when he had first been confronted with the return of his former...or rather once-more-present heir. But he had not been satisfied with the young man's feeble explanations.

A pang went through his heart every time he saw Matthew's pale and peaked expression, the worry in his eyes... the way he would glance at Mary ever so often, nervous, almost anxiously.

But Mary's face was impassable. Stony. Anyone would have called it a lack of emotion, but Robert knew his daughter better. She was never more cool and collected than when she was at her most furious.

"...I was picked up by the fifth officer Lowe, somehow managed to pull myself onto a piece of wood. I made a raft out of it and kept most of myself out of the water. God knows, I still can't feel my feet in winter." Patrick recounted, chuckling at his last words. "I was lucky. The Carpathia brought us to New York. By that time, I had been in such a state, I could not think straight, you understand. The shock. The trauma. It was all getting to much for me."

Violet snorted. "Oh I can imagine. It must have been too taxing to ask someone to send us notice."

Patrick was about to argue, when Edith finally managed to speak. "Captain Smiley had lost his writing hand in a shelling. Other soldiers had been blinded and maimed horribly, but they still had _someone_ contact their families to let them know they were alive!" The tear-stained anguish in Edith's features seemed to have an effect on Patrick, whose glib mask slipped for only a moment.

"I...I'm sorry to have caused you so much sorrow...and there is not much I can do now to take back the past. But believe me, I have missed you all _terribly._" he said, holding a hand to his mouth as if he were overwhelmed by his emotion.

"I still lack to understand how your name would not have appeared on any survivor lists?" Robert asked, gulping down the liquor Carson had offered him. "Well, I...I couldn't remember. As I said. I was in shock. The, err...whole ordeal must have triggered some sort of amnesia and before I knew it, I was shipped off to Canada. Montreal to be precise."

Since there was no immediate way to check whether his story was true or even likely, they had to accept it, at least for now. The ease and coolness he displayed, however, made it difficult to have much sympathy with him, especially considering what the men at the front had to endure these days...

"And when, pray, did you regain your memory?" Rosamund asked snidely.

"Last spring." Patrick smiled once again and looked over at Matthew. "In fact, I was up in Yorkshire and I met Cousin Matthew briefly on the train back to London. Do you remember? You and Mary were making quite a spectacle of yourselves out on the platform."

Robert did not like the way Patrick was diverting the negative attention from himself onto Matthew. It was Mary, however, who rose to their defence. "That's none of your business. Why did you not speak up back then if you recognized us?" she argued, her calm demeanour cracking visibly.

"I didn't have the heart, my dear." Patrick said softly, fixing Mary with an intent look.

Matthew's pulse started to race. He knew that Patrick had been Mary's intended before him, but he had certainly forfeit the right to call her 'my dear' after six years of absence...to allow himself such intimacy.

"Don't call me 'dear'!" Mary snapped coldly. Matthew smiled.

For the past half hour, ever since Mary had revealed to him the identity of the mystery man, Matthew had been falling into a dark pit of misery, disillusionment and most of all, cold, blind fear.

He felt suddenly thrown back into the summer of 1914, when all his hopes and dreams for the future, a future with Mary, had been dashed to pieces. And he realized that his decision back then, not to make himself so dependent on the entail and Downton had failed miserably.

He needed it. Not for himself. But for Mary. He'd wanted to give it to her, to offer her the best life she could possibly have...and the inheritance that should have been her birth right either way. She'd said that she loved him, and he believed her, had to believe her in order to survive these days, but now his prospects had changed yet again. Quite dramatically.

It was dizzying really. How he could go from being a lawyer to a future Earl, then back to a lawyer, then back to a future Earl and now once more, back to being nothing but a simple middle-class lawyer. And Mary, darling Mary would have to join him in this...degradation,_ if _she stayed by her word. Would she though? Or would she withdraw again? After all, their engagement was not official yet...

No, Matthew argued fiercely with himself, no, she would not do this to me...not again!

He longed to take her hand, then and there, look her in the eyes and silently ask her: Will you still be mine, even if I've lost everything again? But Mary's stony silence, her refusal to so much as glance into his direction fuelled his anxiety to breaking point...

_Please, God, please, please don't take her away from me again!_

Matthew took a deep breath. He'd calmly watched Patrick Crawley tell his tale of drama and survival on the great wide ocean. And after the initial shock wore off, he was able to process and take a proper look at the young man before him.

The first thing to strike him was the tall, athletic figure, which only proved that Patrick had most certainly not been to war. Otherwise he would never have shown all these signs of good health and strength, because the trenches drained you of that pretty swiftly. From previous accounts, he knew that Patrick was about Mary's age and he'd conserved his youthfulness very well, again testimony that he had been living a good life over in Canada, far away from the front...

Patrick was attractive, no doubt. His dark wavy hair was slicked back and emphasized his perfectly sculpted features most fetchingly. Almost like a greek god's...

_'Son of a God. Rather more fitting, wouldn't you say?' _

Matthew winced as Mary's words rang through his mind. He really ought to make a conscious effort to forget at least some of the things she'd said. Glancing aside, he took in Mary's equally perfect profile. More fitting. Yes. There must be a branch of devastatingly beautiful members of the Crawley family and both Mary and Patrick were descended from it.

"I know it was wrong. But you have to understand me, too. After all these years, how could I be sure that I was still welcome? And..." he nodded towards Matthew."I can see that I have been quite adequately replaced, haven't I?" Patrick stated, sounding mildly indignant and accusatory now.

Matthew shook his head grimly. "No one would contend or even doubt your right to the inheritance. Not me anyways." he said, trying to sit up straighter. Robert snorted and turned towards them. "No, not by law." commented he, then turned away again to have his glass refilled.

"Thank you, Cousin Matthew. That is...very good of you to say. I'm sorry, of course, for your, well, disadvantage." Patrick said seriously, staring at Matthew first, then at Mary. "Don't be." Matthew pressed out, quite proud of himself for sounding so reasonable and polite.

"I don't care about losing _Downton_...not the _title _or the _money__._.." he struggled to say what he really felt. Looking at Mary's cool facade again, he knew that she would not want him to go on. It was the truth, he did not care for the entail in itself, only for what it afforded him - Mary's happiness.

"But?" Patrick prodded coldly. "There is a _but_ coming, isn't there?"

Robert turned furiously around at Patrick's insolent tone and Mary's eyebrows contracted ever so slightly. Matthew addressed the family now, desperate to say speak out what was in his heart.

"But...I had hoped...I fear..." If he lost Mary over this, he would go mad. His throat closed up and a sheen of cold sweat had gathered on his brow. He glanced one more time at Mary's pallid profile, then down at his hands, which felt strangely numb. Matthew hung his head...

Out of nowhere, Mary's warm hand came up to rest on his.

"What Matthew is trying to say is...we had hoped, that you when the day comes, you wouldn't mind us staying in Crawley House. It'll be our home soon and Matthew has got a job in Ripon...so it would be nice to know that we could remain close to Downton. Not indefinitely, but for the near future at least." Mary had spoken with such calmness that it took everyone a few moments to grasp the real meaning of her words.

Matthew's heart had stopped beating for a second, then started to gallop. His head snapped up to see whether her lips had actually moved. Had she just said what he believed he'd heard?

"What?" Robert and Cora said nearly in unison. "Now, Robert. Don't be so shocked. As if we hadn't expected this since Christmas." Violet chided, though she did not look as pleased as she would have under normal circumstances. The fact that Mary was once more robbed of her rightful inheritance started to feel like a cruel joke to her. She wanted to see Mary in her place one day, or at least in a similar station...but then she also wanted to see her grand daughter happy. Why were these things always mutually exclusive?

"So you and Matthew are engaged?" Cora asked just to make sure, joyful tears clinging to her lashes already. Finally some good news. It didn't matter who inherited what, but Mary would be settled at least. And happily so.

Instead of replying, Mary pulled off the glove on her left hand to reveal the fine diamond ring Matthew had put there almost half a year ago.

"We are. Since New Years." she said, smiling broadly. Matthew had shifted in his seat, closer to his bride. An extremely loud sigh of relief escaped his chest, he could not control it. He blushed and struggled to control his emotions as Mary finally turned towards him and their hands came together in front of everyone.

"I'm sorry that we kept it a secret. Matthew wanted to tell you but I said no." she explained softly. Matthew shook his head vehemently, his cheeks glowing. "It's not Mary's fault." He turned to Robert "I should have asked you again for her hand first, before proposing...though you made it a tad difficult at the time." He regarded the Earl warily, ready to take the blame and protect Mary from accusation, if there was any to come.

"Well, that's..." Robert bristled on impulse, but at the sight of his eldest daughter and his former heir so happily united, he felt nothing but genuine relief and much needed delight in the face of this chaotic day. Of course, they had expected this, and looking back, perhaps he _had_ been a bit harsh towards the couple at the start of the year...

"I should be angry...but I'm actually too pleased." he said and stepped up to shake Matthew's hand. He may have lost him as an heir, but not as a son-in-law. And this at least was a real consolation tonight.

Sybil and Edith exchanged a knowing smile, while Patrick silently stood by as the family gathered around the couple, pouring congratulations and affection over them. To say that Mary's reaction surprised him would be an understatement.

She had changed. With this other cousin...

"We have to make plans. And you must tell Isobel!" Cora trilled. Matthew promised to telephone his mother tomorrow. He actually found it hard to concentrate on anything practical, enjoying the loving squeezes of Mary's hand in his. The only thing that could make this moment more perfect would be a kiss, but he knew that this would stretch propriety beyond limits.

Patrick shook Matthew's hand with just the right amount of pressure and smiled, though Matthew wasn't fooled. There was chagrin and contained fury. Matthew didn't care anymore. He would very happily leave all of the inheritance to Patrick...

...because he had something infinitely more precious to call his own.

Patrick felt the strength in the other man's uncannily blue eyes. _Stubborn. Determined. Strong._ And all of a sudden, Mary's preference for their middle-class cousin made a lot more sense to him.

"Well, I'd ring for champagne if it wasn't so late..." Robert sighed, "For _two_ such happy occasions?" Violet sniffed sarcastically, glaring at Patrick with open dislike. There had been a time when she was as fond of the young man as the rest of the family, but there was something _off _about this sudden return, Violet could feel it in her bones.

"...it's been a rather exhauting evening and I wager the Ladies would like to retire." Robert went on, with particular concern for poor Edith, who still sat slumped against Sybil on an ottoman, exhausted from shock and confusion.

"We'll talk more tomorrow." he decided, addressing Patrick now. Carson was ordered to prepare two guest rooms for the young men. "Captain Crawley has already been quatered in the green room, Milord." Carson informed them.

Robert nodded. "Very good, Carson. And Mr. Crawley here?" Patrick held up a hand and laughed. "Oh please, do not trouble yourself. I am quite at home in the Savoy. I've been there since the start of the season. Perhaps, you and Cousin Matthew would like to join me there for dinner tomorrow?" he asked. Robert looked taken aback and Matthew already shook his head slightly.

No way in hell that he would be robbed of an evening with Mary. And certainly not to spend it with _him_. "I assumed you would come over for dinner here tomorrow?" Robert said sternly. "Perhaps it would be for the best if we discussed certain topics under four...or six eyes." Patrick replied, fully aware of the Ladies' taking offence at his excluding them.

Robert nodded again. "Very well. Goodnight then." He said and reached out to shake Patrick's hand, feeling as if he was talking to a perfect stranger. This young man may carry his voice and his face, but he was certainly not the same boy he had been so fond of years ago.

More like a warped shadow of him...

* * *

Three days.

Three measly days were all the leave Matthew had until he would have to go back to the front. Mary was determined to make his time off as nice as possible. Unfortunately, it was rather difficult to ignore the current mood of dazed confusion which still hung over the whole Grantham family due to Patrick's return from the dead.

Edith had composed herself tolerably, though she would not eat much. Sybil tried her best to cheer her up and even mentioned Evelyn with whom Edith had started to get along so well of late.

It was a lovely summer day outside and Mary suggested a walk in the park. Matthew felt almost exhilerated as he trotted idly through the city green, with Mary clinging to his arm, her hand resting on it, with her engagement ring glittering in the bright sunlight. Out in the open for the first time.

About a year ago, he'd taken this walk with Lavinia and he remembered feeling nothing but dread in his stomach at the prospect of returning to France in a day or two. Dear Lavinia, she never noticed.

How very different everything was with Mary now...

His eyes roamed over her radiant features, counting all these adorable freckles that only showed in the summer...and those sparkling chocolate eyes that would delve deeply into his...and this lovely enigmatic smile on her delicious pink lips...

Matthew felt more besotted with her than ever and also more terrified. She was engaged to him now. Mary was officially his fiancée! And that also gave him new responsibilities, albeit wonderful ones for a change...

Robert had written to the papers that very morning, so hopefully the announcement of their betrothal would be out before Matthew had to return. He longed to see it in print.

"Are you happy, darling?" Mary asked him, looking up into his glowing face. A breathless chuckle broke from his chest. "Very, very happy. More than you can guess...more than I thought possible after the past months." Mary nodded in silent understanding, her gaze lingering on his reddening cheeks...

He had lost weight again. All the time he'd spent recovering at Downton, she had made sure that he would get some of his old bloom back, with good food and fresh air and generally trying to keep him happy. Now it seemed that all her efforts had been wiped away again by this horrid war..

This war - it was her greatest rival. Stealing Matthew constantly away from her, wrecking him physically and mentally...and never letting him go...

They continued to walk past another fashionable couple. He was in uniform like Matthew and both men acknowledged each other formally. Matthew casually glanced at the other man's wife or fiancé but only noticed the amount of finery and jewels that she wore.

His mood turned dipped a little. The future he had envisioned, in which he would give Downton to Mary and afford her all the things she wanted, all the luxuries she was used to...that future was gone forever.

If he made it back in one piece...he would work hard, harder than ever to rise and become more than what he was now. By God, he would do anything to make her happy. But will it ever be enough, if he can't give her what she wants. Would _he_ ever be quite enough for Mary to keep her happy? As a lawyer's wife with no hope of ever becoming mistress of Downton...

"Darling?" Mary said softly from aside, a frown creasing her brow. "Hm?" Matthew knew that she could read him like a book and tried in vain to pull himself together and smiled, though it looked drawn. She led him to one of the park benches and sat more closely than propriety would normally allow. It brought back a real smile to his face and he wanted to kiss her badly.

A large squirrel scurried past them.

"Tell me what it is? I have a fairly good idea what it might be but..." Mary said, concern etched across her features. Matthew felt terrible for ruining the mood. He took her hand, peeled back the cream coloured glove and bestowed a loving kiss onto the soft skin, then held it against his chest.

Mary could feel his heart beat through the thick cloth of his khaki uniform and for an instant she wanted to cry. How she longed for the day when Matthew would take this uniform off. For good.

"It's just...I want to make you happy..." he began, "…and that's why I can't bear it that you'll never have it now." Mary blinked, mildly confused. "Have what?" she prodded. "Downton of course!" he snapped, getting annoyed despite himself. His gruff tone made her flare up as well. "Oh for God's sake, Matthew! I don't care about _having_ Downton!" He glared at her, temper rising, though his hand still held hers clasped to his chest.

"Oh _now_ you don't care? You used to care three years ago! In fact, you cared a very great deal back when it wasn't even certain that I lost it..and now, when it's confirmed with absolute certainty that my prospects have changed...now you don't care at all?"

Mary's black eyes went wide and she tried to pry her hand out of his, but he would not let her. "I can't believe you would still think that of me...after everything we have been through.." she muttered, deflating in front of him. "If you think I'm _that_ fickle..." She shook her head sadly.

At the sight of her misery, Matthew grovelled immediately. Idiot, he berated himself, why did he always have to say the wrong thing? "I'm so sorry, Mary." he whispered, rubbing his free hand over his brow. What the hell was he doing, fighting with her over this?

"I wish..." Mary began, her voice barely above a whisper. "What?" he asked quickly, "What do you wish?" He tried to put his arm around her. "Nevermind. We should head home. It's almost tea time." She got up awkwardly as her hand was still kept imprisoned on his chest. Mary shot him a warning glare and tugged again at her captured limb. With a sigh he stood and followed her down the gravel path.

Matthew knew it wasn't fair to be suspicious or doubt, but the parallels with the past still weighed heavily on his heart and he felt as if his dreams of the future, the only thing that kept him going at the front, were in danger of being snatched away once more. Mary's hand seemed all he had of her to hold onto at this moment...

They walked in silence. All of a sudden, Mary halted and stared up at a half grown-over statue of two lovers in a rather neglected corner of the green. Moss and ivy ranks sprouted all around the base of the greek hero and his beautiful mate.

Matthew glanced at Mary mournfully, wishing that she would say something. But she didn't. Instead, she steered him towards the deserted space, looked left and right and finally pulled him behind the large stone sculpture. Matthew's heart thumped wildly and Mary grinned, feeling race against the back of her hand.

He did not dare ask her what she was up to, afraid that she might change her mind and stop. Mary pushed him up against the rear of the huge square stone base, then pressed herself against his chest. Matthew moaned audibly and she slapped her free hand over his mouth.

"Shhh.." Mary warned, looking furtively left and right again. No one had seen them. Or heard him.

"Mary..." he gasped, before her lips sealed his with a searing kiss, the kiss he had been dying for since last night. Finally, Matthew released her hand, but only to guide her arms around his neck, to pull her closer to him and engulf her body in his strong embrace. Everything around them simply faded away - the sound of the birds in the trees, the faraway bustle of the people in the park, the constant noise of the city in the background.

There was only them. Safe and warm in each others' embrace. Lips sliding reverently, tongues caressing as hands roamed possessively over what was promised to be theirs...

The sweetness became almost unbearable, stirring darker, more potent desires, until Mary distinctly felt him stir against her belly and pressed herself closer, eliciting another moan from him.

"So...so stupid." she mumbled as her kisses grew frantic, almost desperate. How could this idiot man believe that she might need anything more than this? More than him...

Matthew groaned and his knees buckled when he felt Mary's thigh pressing up against his aching middle. He was beyond coherency, beyond reason, nearly undone with the force of his need as he groped blindly for any bit of her that he could reach.

Her responding mewl was cut short by the sharp sound of a whistle and the smack of a policeman's cudgel against the innocent stone base of the statue. "Oi, stop that! What d'you think you're about? This is a public park!" the policeman growled. Mary frowned at him in dazed confusion.

Busted again! Were they never to get an undisturbed moment to themselves? It was only when she looked around that it came back to her where they actually stood...and what they had been doing...

Matthew tried to say something in their defence, but he could not gather his wits quickly enough. His brain was still so fuzzy and full of Mary that he could only stare at the bobby wide-eyed and open-mouthed, panting heavily.

"We're very sorry. But my fiancé and I haven't seen each other for half a year. And he has to leave again for the front tomorrow." Mary explained, smiling apologetically at the official, who was instantly appeased and nodded indulgently. Matthew shook his head as they walked on. It was disconcerting to witness how easily men melted in her presence, how she could charm them with little more than a word and a sweet smile. Mary really could wrap any man around her little finger...

Unbidden flashes of Patrick Crawley shot through his mind...

"Calm down, we've escaped, haven't we?" Mary whispered at his side, thinking he had blanched because of their brush with the law. Matthew blinked at her, then chuckled softly, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist as they briskly walked back towards Grantham House.

Though grudgingly, Robert did keep his appointment with Patrick at the Savoy that night and so the Granthams spent the evening sans head of the family. For Mary and Matthew it was just as well. They sat huddled together in one corner of the drawing room, holding hands, because now they were allowed to. Smiling and whispering to each other, they hardly cared what happened around them, and vice verse nobody else seemed to mind or care much what they did, in light of the Patrick situation.

"Are we even sure that it is him?" Rosamund wondered again over a glass of port. She had been the one least in contact with James and Patrick over the years. 'Yes." Edith muttered morosely. There was no doubt that it was their lost cousin, even if he looked six years older and rather more distinguished these days.

"He's changed, hasn't he?" Sybil remarked quietly as she held out a handkerchief for her sister. Cora nodded. "I agree." She shook her head sadly. "Whatever has happened to him, he's become a very different person." Violet huffed at that. "Well, he must have had a reason to make this sudden re-appearance..." Her shrewd mind was already hard at work.

The couple in the corner tried to ignore the rest of the party and their speculations as to the old and new heir. Matthew also tried his best not to let Mary notice his melancholy they had discussed in he park before was still not off the table. Mary professed to be alright with this new situation, but was she truly? He could not tell. With Mary, he could never be sure...

As he held her hand, his thumb caressed the knuckles, lazily, lovingly...and underneath the silk of her glove he could feel the ring he had put onto her finger.

_Solid evidence,_ he told himself, _that she'll be mine. Take all the rest, Patrick, I don't mind about the rest..._

"I...have something for you." Mary said out of the blue, pulling Matthew out of his gloomy reverie. "Oh?" He smiled and blinked at her with genuine interest. "You'll get it later." she whispered and he was momentarily thrown by the impression that there was a seductive lilt to her voice...

At one o'clock in the morning, Mary put the novel she'd been reading away and threw the bed covers off. With a soft tap, her naked feet hit the carpet and she silently moved around her room, searching for her shoes and the silken kimono robe to put over her thin nightgown...

Mustn't give him a heart attack, she thought with a wry smile as she appraised herself in the mirror. The dress gown made her look decent enough and her hair was tied up into a long braid. There was no need to pinch her cheeks, as she was already flushed pink with expectations and nerves...

Very quietly, so as not to wake a soul, Mary crossed the carpeted corridor upstairs of Grantham House to get to the guest rooms. Luckily, Patrick had declined staying with them for now, so the 'Green Room' was the only one occupied in that part of the house. She listened at the door and drew back in mild confusion.

Muffled noises came out of Matthew's room. Groaning...haunting sounds as if someone suffered greatly...

Without hesitation, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her. When Mary looked up, she saw Matthew tossing around on the large four poster bed. He was asleep, but not at rest. Pitiful whimpers and groans emerged from his lips and Mary covered her mouth for a moment, broken-hearted by what she witnessed...

He must be dreaming of _it_. The war. Nightmares about all those horrible, unspeakable things he had read out to her in his letters. She hurried over to the bed and climbed onto it. "Matthew." she tried softly, then a little louder, but he kept on tossing. Switching on the small lamp next to them, Mary could see his face was glistening with sweat and tears and her heart gave another painful squeeze.

"Matthew...wake up." She leaned down and took his head in between her hands, brushing her thumbs gently across his slippery cheeks. He startled awake, still panting, and it seemed to take him a moment to focus properly on his surroundings and the woman who sat perched on his bed.

"My darling..." He gasped and a smile broke over his face as he recognized her. However, when his hands came up cover hers on his cheeks, he startled again upon realizing that she wasn't just part of a dream. She was really there.

"You..you're...what're you doing here?"

Mary didn't know what to reply. What was she doing there? She had not expected to find him terrified after a nightmare. It had thrown her plans rather off course. "I...just wanted to see you." she said with a slightly haughty inflection. Matthew rubbed his bleary eyes and licked his dry lips.

"Did something happen...are you well?" He sounded anxious and Mary quickly nodded, not at all sure whether she had not better leave again. "I'm fine." She looked down at her folded hands resting on top of her gown. When she gazed up at him again, it was Mary who startled.

Matthew was positively leering at her. Blue eyes wide and raking over her thinly-clad form, mouth agape and his tongue repeatedly darting out to wet his lips. A nervous reaction, she knew. Mary could hear his breathing quicken and surpressed a smile at these obvious signs of Matthew's desire for her. And her plans were back on track...

"Can I sleep here tonight?" She asked, looking at him from under her dark lashes.

Matthew had to take a moment to process her request and she failed to conceal a triumphant smile when she saw his face flame up. "Of...of course." he stammered, moving clumsily aside to make space for her. The bed was wonderfully warm and Matthew's scent assaulted Mary's senses as she crept under the covers with him, causing her to shiver deliciously.

Without a word, she pressed herself up against him, feeling Matthew first stiffen then tremble in her embrace. "Mary..." He moaned, helpless against the waves of arousal that threatened to overwhelm him. They melted together into fervent kisses as her fingers slid into his tousled blonde hair and his arms wound tightly around her warm body.

Instinctively, Mary wrapped one long leg around his hip to press herself closer him...closer to...

"Wait..._oh God_..." Matthew groaned into her mouth and to Mary's mild irritation, he stopped his movements instantly. Panting hard, he squinted at her, as if he tried to see more clearly.

"I want to..." Mary murmured, unable to speak it out, but she figured that her purpose must be quite obvious by now. Why did he stop? Did he not want her? She frowned at his befuddled demeanour.

Matthew blinked repeatedly, then closed his eyes to gather his wits. "Mary, if this is about what I said in the park today..." She wanted to shake her head, but opted for a silent glare instead. He took this to be sufficient confirmation and his expression grew incredibly tender.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, my darling...you were right, I was being stupid..." It was only then that he realized how stupid he had actually behaved since last night. Mary had been nothing but positive about the situation and he had sulked and questioned her loyalty, when she had given him no feasible grounds to be anxious. Quite the contrary.

"It's not just that." Mary admitted. They were laying together, facing each other with their heads resting on his pillow. "Oh." He suddenly recalled her promise from earlier that evening, about wanting to give him _something_...

Heat flooded him from his scalp to his toes and Mary could actually feel his body twitch at her suggestion. In his eyes she could read nothing but love...love and a spot of fear...

"Oh my darling..." He pulled her into his arms again for another kiss. But Mary held him off and regarded him curiously for an instant. "Matthew, have you truly never..._been_ with a woman?" It was still somewhat incredible to her. Didn't they say that all men did this during the war...for consolation or out of a simple primal urge...the war, where all boys were inevitably turned into men...

Matthew had hidden his face in the pillows now, "You know I haven't." he grumbled, clearly uneasy with the topic. He seemed mortified, though Mary could not imagine why this should be. Nothing to be embarrassed about, surely.

"Why not?" she whispered gently. It was a legitimate question.

When Matthew reappeared from his hiding place, his face had turned quite crimson. For a moment it looked as if he was about to get angry, but Mary held his glare steadily, waiting for him to calm.

"_You_ should know perfectly well why." he mumbled, looking anywhere but at her. Mary had to hold herself back. Matthew was usually so reasonable and confident, but when he turned shy and adorable like this, she had a hard time trying not to smother him with kisses.

"Then why don't you want me now?" She sat up a little and looked down at him as he raised a hand to cup her cheek and was momentarily distracted by the sheer softness of it. Soft, clean, bright, beautiful...all the things he dreamt of when he was over there. A small burst of laughter rumbled through him when he realized what she had just asked.

_Not. Want. Her_. Was she mad?

"Mary, for God's sake, I want you more than is probably considered sane. And you know _that_ as well!" He smirked when her eyebrows pulled together. The storm clouds were gathering.

"This war has turned everything upside down, all rules of propriety, all traditions...but this one thing..._this_, I want to do right. I want to marry you and have a proper wedding night with my darling bride...like my father had, and your father had...and..." He stopped and hid in the pillows again. Mary had listened breathlessly, feeling tears prickle in the corner of her lids.

"And what?" Her voice crackled a little. "And I want it to be perfect for you...you deserve a perfect wedding night, my love." He sounded muffled. She shook her head, but he wasn't done yet. "I want you to be my wife, Mary, and I want to make love to you and honour you and...and 'with my body I thee worship'...and have children with you and...what if you get pregnant and I get killed..." He gasped for air, having talked himself into a full on rant.

Mary listened to his laboured breathing with alarm. When he got upset, his lungs would sometimes start to trouble him again. "Shhh...it's alright, darling. I understand." She bent down and kissed his burning cheek. Matthew looked up at her regretfully. He felt like crying with surpressed longing.

"I want you so much, Mary, it's almost unbearable." Closing his eyes, he swallowed. "But I can and will not do anything that might ruin your life." The war may have stripped him of everything else, but not his sense of decency...and certainly not when it came to Mary.

To her surprise, he started to laugh again, though it sounded bitter. "And to be honest, my darling, if we go ahead, I don't think I will survive the coming months, because there'll be nothing on my mind but the memory of this night..."

His joke was more terrifying than funny to her, but Mary decided to indulge him with a smile. "You _will_ come back to me!" Her order almost sounded like a wolfish growl and Matthew had to laugh harder, feeling his nerves give out. It was all too much.

After these dreadful past months at the front, and the change of his fate by the return of Patrick Crawley, and now Mary's midnight seduction...he knew she had not the slightest idea how close she had come to making him throw all caution to the wind and take what he wanted so very much.

If he loved her less, only then might he let his rampant desire run away with him...

Mary sensed it. He was being the old Matthew again. _Her_ Matthew. The decent man who thought it an insufferable injustice that Mary should be robbed of Downton; the kind man for whom she meant 'a very great deal'; and now, the honrourable man who wants to wait for their wedding night because he though she deserved a proper and perfect one...

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "No." Mary bit back the well of emotions that made her throat feel tight, and crawled back down into his arms, her head tucked firmly under his. "You're a good man...a very, very good man." She kissed the soft spot under his chin repeatedly, making him purr a little.

They laid together in silence for a few minutes. "Mary?" She could feel him shifting nervously underneath her. "Yes, Matthew?" Her mouth was still muffled into his neck. "I want..." Matthew swallowed thickly. Finally, she pushed herself up to see him properly. "I thought..." She could not help smirking a little at his change of mind.

"No...I only want to...touch _you_." He cleared his throat again. "Like...like you touched me...that night...after the ball." Mary's eyes went wide. "Oh...right." For some unfathomable reason, this request made her more uneasy than the idea of actually going all the way with him.

To let Matthew...pleasure her, to be so exposed and...completely in his hands...literally.

Matthew rolled them over so that he could cradle her body against him. He stared down at her laying in his arms. "Are you afraid? I won't touch you if you don't me want to!" His forehead was creased and she could distinctly see the dark line of the scar over his brow. Her hand came up to caress it tenderly and their eyes met. What was she afraid of, she wondered herself now...

"No...I want to." She pursed her lips, then regarded him with a playful smile. "But...you mustn't look." That seemed to irk him. He frowned. "I couldn't see you properly either...after the ball." Her tone broke no argument and he nodded, licking his lips again. They kissed softly.

Later, Mary would not be able to give a sensible account of what followed from here on out...

"I don't really know what I'm doing..." Matthew apologized in advance, but was clearly not to be held off by his lack of knowledge. Mary smiled, but then her face quickly slackened and she had to closer her eyes at the first contact of Matthew's hand on her most intimate place. She could feel the heat of his skin even through the barrier of her nightclothes.

His hand trembled, making it difficult for him to open the sash of her dress gown and she had to help. "Mary." he descended again upon her lips, kissing her deeply. "I love you, my darling." Matthew whispered, obviously struggling to keep his wits together. Mary smiled and pulled the hem of her white linen nightgown up to her knees, then guided his shaking hand underneath it...

"Oh my _God_..." Matthew's head fell down next to hers and he had to pause for an instant. She could feel his warm, slightly moist palm on the soft curls covering her mound. Instinctively, she spread her thighs to give him better access.

Matthew pressed his lips against her ear as he tentatively slid his fingers over the secret place he'd yearned to discover for so long. "My love..." he breathed into her ear, making Mary tremble more violently. "Touch me." She nearly lept off the bed when Matthew's fingers discovered the sensitive, swollen nub that seemed to make her quiver when touched. Seeing Mary's reaction, he sought to pay particular attention to this spot...

"Does this...feel good?" He pressed out, anxious to do it right. His was breathing coming in short ragged bursts. Mary couldn't speak, but managed a weak nod. Satisfied, Matthew stroked the soft swelling gently, lovingly, trying to establish a rythm that she found pleasing. Mary moaned, eyes closed and head thrown back into the pillow. She was only distantly aware that someone might hear her cries...

"Don't stop." Mary whimpered, clutching at his moving hand to encourage him. It was Matthew who groaned now as he eagerly caressed her soft flesh. Every whimper, every small cry of pleasure that came over her sweet lips tore at his heart, sending sharp jolts of arousal through his frame...

"Matthew...Matth..." It was coming. Mary could feel it and all she could do was clasp Matthew's shoulder, his arm, hold onto something, anything, against the rolling wave of unbearable pleasure that shook her entire body repeatedly. The sweetness of it was almost too much to take.

"Oh, my darling...look at me...please...you're so beautiful...look at me." He begged, his voice thick with lust.

With great effort, Mary dragged her lids open to gaze into her lover's pale blue eyes, hooded and heavy with his own desire. The sight brought on another spasm, shaking her with less force, but more emotion. "I love you, Mary...God, how much.", he whispered brokenly. Caught in the fog of her release, she was only dimly aware of Matthew bucking against her hip as he cried out his release against her cheek...

They laid tightly entwined, shuddering together as Mary finally had to pull his hand off her center, too sensitive now to endure more of his touch. Matthew clutched her body tightly to his chest. Their sweat-stained clothes clung to their bodies as they slowly calmed down.

"Thank you." Matthew panted into her skin, sounding drunk. Mary's brain took about a minute to register what he had said and she broke out laughing, so much that she had to slap a hand over her own mouth. If nobody had heard her before, they surely had now...

He dragged his head up to see what amused her so. The tender look in his eyes stopped her mirth and Mary cupped his cheek. "Thank _you, _my darling. I've never...felt like this. Ever." She smiled, watching his face break out into a dazed grin of pride and satisfaction. He leaned down to bestow a long and loving kiss upon his beloved. Now more than ever...

As they rested side by side again, still attempting to catch their breaths, Matthew took her hand and held it up to his lips. "Such wonderful memories you've given me...this is what I want to look forward to...over there." he sighed, kissing each fingertip in turn. Mary smiled serenely. "What things?" One eyebrow cocked up. Matthew chuckled darkly and mimicked her.

"All sorts of things."

They kissed some more, calming down sufficiently for Mary to brave the risky track back to her own room. Matthew watched her go with painful regret. If only they were already married and nothing could separate them anymore. To go to bed with Mary every night and wake up with her in the morning...

Matthew silently followed her to the door and held her close from behind for a moment.

"I'm sure now." He whispered into her ear. "Of what?" She turned slightly, trying to see his face. "That you only want me...nothing else...I'm sure of it." She pressed his right hand, the one that had touched her so sweetly only minutes ago, and leaned back into his chest. "Good...because I'm sure, too."

Smiling, she bestowed another quick kiss upon his slightly stubbled chin, then finally moved out of his embrace. At the door Mary turned again. "Sleep well, my darling...no more nightmares. Dream of... 'all sorts of things' instead."

And he did. For the first time in many months.


	32. Chapter 32

_**A/N:** Waaah, this took effing ages! I'm sooo terribly terribly sorry for the massive delay! There had been so much going on and this being a difficult chapter I also wanted to take proper time for it. But it turned out extra long and I hope you can enjoy it. I was so happy to hear that people enjoyed the previous chapter and once again thank you guys so much for all the wonderful reviews and messages...and yes, there will be a 'proper' wedding night of course, you'll see ;-)_

_Just a warning for now though: this is basically the final 'war-themed' chapter and there will be a bit of a shock there, so just warning you in advance. Don't be scared, there will be NO character death, just to clear that up. It will be angsty though, but trust me it does end on a much more positive and lighter note than you may think at first :)_

* * *

** Chapter XXXII **

It was in the papers the next morning.

_The engagement is announced between Mary Josephine Crawley, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Grantham and Matthew George Crawley, son of the late Reginald and Isobel Crawley of Manchester._

"There will be trouble about this from the Branksomes' side and their friends." Rosamund remarked as she saw the announcement, having come over to her brother's house for breakfast and the latest gossip. All the Ladies of the family and Matthew were present. Cora had not fancied her usual breakfast in bed this morning, preferring to be present when they waved off Matthew, who was due back at the front.

"I don't think so." Mary said casually as she slid into the seat next to her aunt, so she could face Matthew. They glanced at each other briefly, then quickly focussed on their plates of kedgeree. Both blushed when rather heated memories of last night kept rushing back...

"Evelyn gave us his blessing even before you did, Papa." Mary reminded her father, then turned to find Edith's head snapping up at the mention of the name. It was a bit odd to imagine her former 'love' getting closer to her own sister. Odd...but not exactly painful.

Edith, for her part, kept insisting that Evelyn Napier was merely 'good company' and that was all.

From across the table, Mary watched Matthew butter his toast and her gaze fixed on the way his fingers closed around the knife. A mild shiver ran through her frame as more vivid recollections of Matthew's hands flooded her mind...

"...and Patrick mentioned a new business scheme that we might invest in, over in Canada." Robert addressed Matthew who was sitting to his right. It took the officer exactly five seconds too long to react, as his brain had been completely clouded with images of Mary writhing in his arms...

"Sorry?" Matthew glanced up at Robert, obviously bewildered. Robert chalked his lapse up to the fact that the young officer would have to return to France today, which must be preoccupying, without a doubt. He would have preferred to discuss these matters with Matthew in private over a glass of brandy, but this morning seemed to be the only time left. "Patrick...he's mentioned a business venture in which the Grantham estate might get involved in. A Canadian Railway. He said it's bound to take off in the coming years..."

Edith's ears perked up again. "Oh no, Papa. Evel...I mean, _someone_ told me that this sort of scheme is not reliable. These railway shares over in Canada are not at all safe to invest in." She chanced a wary glance at Mary, who indulged her with a smile, knowing full well who that _'someone_' was.

Their father smiled, too, but only to dismiss his daughter's claims. "Thank you, Edith dear. I'm sure we'll keep that in mind." He turned back to Matthew, speaking more quietly now. "According to our cousin, it's a fail-safe scheme. And I've been thinking...perhaps you might want to invest part of Mary's dowry. You could easily double it and buy a larger house or another one in the city."

Matthew took a hearty sip of tea and looked over to Mary, who was glaring at her father. "That sounds very interesting...but no." Matthew spoke politely, yet firmly. "And it's Mary's dowry...I wouldn't presume to make any plans with it, and certainly not without her." That said, Matthew stood and went over to the breakfast buffet to help himself to more eggs and ham. Such good food would be off the menu for a while again, come tomorrow.

Robert looked astounded for only a second, then turned towards his daughter, who did not even try to hide her little triumphant smile. "Well, he's right of course. What do _you_ think about this?" Mary chewed her portion of eggs, deliberating. "I think...we should listen to Edith...and her _source_." All eyes turned to the sister who had made the dire warning in the first place and everyone agreed. In these troubling times it was better to stay on the safe side.

Robert sighed in defeat. He was still not quite convinced, but decided to let the topic go for now.

"You don't mind if I take it, do you?" Matthew pointed at the _Times_ next to Robert. His fingers touched the paper and ink almost reverently where it formed the words that made up the announcement of his union with Mary. "Of course not." Robert smiled. Carson produced a pair of scissors for Matthew out of nowhere, so he could cut out the piece he coveted.

As it was, the butler had already done so with his own copy of the paper downstairs this morning...

The betrothed couple spent the last hour of Matthew's leave in a small café near King's Cross. "Will you miss me?" Matthew muttered with a sad smile. It was a silly question, of course, but he was not beyond acting childish when it came to Mary. He knew she was not big on verbalizing her feelings, but right now he needed her to say something sweet to him, even if he had to prod it out of her.

He'd barely touched the tea and biscuits they'd ordered. As hungry and light headed as he had felt this morning, still dazed by the wonderful events of last night, as miserable did he feel now that it came to saying goodbye.

Parting from Mary was always horrid, but this time it was downright crippling.

"Of course I'll miss you. Terribly." Mary whispered and caressed his knuckles where she held his hand on the table, their naked fingers tightly interlaced. Matthew gazed lovingly at the slight movement of her thumb and the simple engagement ring which she with pride these days.

A small frown creased his forehead. "Is Patrick coming to Downton with you?" He wasn't so much worried about Mary's loyalties, not anymore, and certainly not since last night...but there was something about Patrick Crawley that he did not trust, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"I'm not sure." Mary shrugged. "Granny thinks there's something very fishy about his sudden...reappearance. And I agree." She sniffed in a subconscious imitation of her grandmother. Her fiancé smiled fondly at her words, somewhat mollified by this statement.

"And yet...I'm infinitely grateful to Patrick. Because I owe him everything." Matthew observed, his blue eyes gleaming enigmatically. Mary frowned in confusion.

"If he hadn't stayed in Canada - whatever his reasons may have been - if he'd come back to Downton then...you and I would never have met. I'd still be in Manchester...unaware that you even exist." He spoke softly and his hand closed tighter around the small fingers that idly caressed his.

"If it wasn't for him...I'd never have found my Mary." Matthew shook his head sadly.

"Then _I _must be infinitely grateful to him...suppose I'll be nice to Patrick after all." Mary whispered teasingly, because Matthew's words were moving her so deeply that she felt tears burning under her lids and she did not fancy weeping in this café. It was difficult enough to look at Matthew without losing one's composure. The handsome and heroic Captain Crawley, all dressed up in his officer uniform that made him look incredibly sharp and distinguished. Mary hated what these clothes represented...even if she was immensely proud of him.

But what is pride and honour and glory...what's it all worth in the end?

"Not _too_ nice, I hope." Matthew frowned at her comment, then laughed when he saw Mary's minx-like smile. He knew that she teased him to ease the pain of their separation and he ached to bend forward and steal another kiss, but this being quite a respectable little tea parlour, he held himself back.

_If_ he made it home alive, Matthew vowed that he would make Mary his wife without further delay, no matter what anyone says. And then there will be no stopping them. No hindrance, no convention or opposition. Nothing to keep them apart.

He felt a delicious warmth spreading in his chest as he imagined how he would keep Mary in their bedroom for a long, long time. And no one could interfere...

This morning, they had stolen some desperate kisses in the library, right before leaving for the station, but it had not been nearly enough. He had embraced her so wildly against the closed door that Mary's hair had come undone and she had to hide the mess under her hat when they left. Even now, Matthew could see a few dark stray strands peeking out from underneath it.

_So so beautiful..._

It was nearly time, they had to go to the platform. Again, Mary felt like crying, but held herself back. No need to make a scene, as surely that would only unsettle Matthew. He paid for the tea and they left together, arms interlinked. Their hands touched. Here at the station, there were quite a lot of soldiers with their sweethearts and not all of them had a sense of propriety.

Holding hands was the most harmless indulgence around here...

"Do you have everything?" Mary asked quietly when they arrived next to the train. Steam was clouding the air around them. Matthew nodded mechanically, a thick lump forming in his throat.

He stepped closer and his hands came up to cup her cheeks. Mary finally lost battle with her tears and they cascaded down, staining the soft brown leather of his gloves. A small sound escaped him as he bent down to kiss away the salty traces, savouring the taste of her on his tongue. "I love you, Mary." His lips pressed together in silent anguish. "Don't forget me."

Mary could only shake her head, the words got stuck in her throat.

Matthew hesitated to say the next thing. Everything inside him recoiled at the mere idea, but it had to be said. Going back to the front, he knew what would come. He knew how his chances stood. There would be a campaign this summer to finally put an end to all this madness. More carnage to end all carnage.

And he would have to lead his men until the very end, no matter what...

"My darling, if I don't come back..." Mary's eyes grew wide and panicked. "No! Don't say it..." She almost stepped on his foot, and then her hands found the lapels of his khaki overcoat and she pulled him down to her lips. Matthew whimpered, but was only temporarily distracted from what he felt she needed to know, needed to hear in order to be happy. Their foreheads touched as they both tried to catch air. He pulled her closer yet.

"Mary, if I don't come back...promise me you'll find...someone to marry...a _decent_ man, that is." He pressed his request out with great effort. The very essence of what he requested broke his heart. But he _couldn't_ be selfish and he _mustn't_ be possessive! He had consider Mary's future...even without him.

"I mean it, my love...I have to know that you'll be safe and happy, no matter what happens..." His words were silenced once more by Mary's soft lips and he swallowed back a groan. They were on a train platform after all.

"Stop being so selfless and stupid, Matthew." She hissed and licked his taste off her lips. "And don't think you'll get rid of me now! You've made your bed, darling, now you have to lie in it..."

The brave smirk on her slightly swollen lips betrayed her serious tone. Matthew barked out a nervous laugh and guided her left hand to his mouth. He knew that he should argue, make her promise to do as he said...but in this instant, he couldn't, because her words were the sweetest balm to him.

And it was simply too wonderful to imagine that Mary wanted him, and him alone...

"...as long as you're waiting there for me." He meant to joke back, but the words came out darker, heavier, tinged with the memory of last night and a desperate wish to come back and make all this real.

_Mary and him. A marriage. A bed. A life together. No more war..._

The conductor announced the imminent departure of the train and they knew it was time to let go. "Oh God..." Matthew burst out, throwing all caution to the wind as he pulled her into his arms and crushed her lips with his.

One last time. One last kiss to take with him...

"Come back, you _must_ come back to me!" Mary implored him. Her gaze was fierce and her tone forbid any argument. "Promise that you will!" Matthew swallowed hard. He couldn't promise, but he wanted to. "I'll come back to you." he whispered at last. They had to believe it. Nothing else was acceptable in this moment. The sharp sound of a whistle finally broke them apart. Matthew had to hurry and jump into his compartment as the train already started to move. He stood in the door, his blue eyes fixed firmly on his lovely fiancée who waved him off with a stoical expression.

The light dusting of freckles on her face suddenly stood out sharply against the ashen colour of her complexion.

Mary's hand cramped around the handle of her small beaded handbag. She felt so lucky, so incredibly lucky to have this man in her life, to have kept him throughout this aweful war! But would her luck run out before it was all over? Matthew could not speak in detail about his duties, but she knew from Evelyn and her father that the war was coming to a head. Surely, it wouldn't last that much longer. But the fighting wasn't over yet and the danger would certainly be even greater in these last endless days before the end...

_Come back_, she repeated stubbornly as she watched the last of the train disappear from sight. _You must come back to me..._

* * *

Downton Abbey, July 1918.

After two months, Patrick felt quite at home at Downton. Perhaps even more so than he had before his extended 'absence'. Slowly but steadily he also managed to get into his family's good books again. Always civil, always attentive, he had once more gained Robert's ear and his trust.

And despite the women's protest, Patrick was still determined to get his elder cousin involved in his Canadian railway scheme. If he was perfectly honest, he did not trust in it so much as to invest any of his own fortune, but he did not feel it necessary to tell Robert so in much detail. If they lost, there was still the title and the estate to be had. And if they won, his inheritance would simply double.

Yes. Times were good for doing business. If only the Ladies would stop meddling into their affairs.

Patrick was almost shocked by his three cousins' modern ways. Mary had not changed in essentials, but for all that, she was gallivanting around with that poor slob of a country solicitor. Little Sybil had turned out quite wild and nearly eloped with the chauffeur! And Edith...

...Edith was the most irksome change in all of this. Patrick remembered the good old days when good old Edith had positively worshipped him like a young god. He could have asked anything of her and she would have done it, even with pleasure. It had been the most flattering of friendships...and quite some balm for his wounded ego because of Mary's perpetual indifference towards him.

To Patrick, it was like the riddle of the sphinx what on earth Mary could possibly see in that milky, soft, unsophisticated, in every way utterly_ average_, middle-class country lawyer from Manchester!

He distinctly remembered how, years ago, Mary had repeatedly sniffed in disgust when Cousin Freddie had announced his intentions of studying the law in London...

Matthew Crawley's erstwhile claim to the entail might have initially explained her inclination towards him...but why would she stand by her promise at this point? To move into that tiny cottage in the village and become a _lawyer's wife_...Lady Mary Crawley of all people!

London society must be rolling on the floor with derisive laughter...

But Mary didn't seem to care at all. She picked out decorations and furnishings and clothes for her trousseau with a disturbingly serene expression of silent pride and joy. It was only when old Lady McNair came to visit one day, and pointed out that it might be bad luck to put together a trousseau before the war was entirely over, that Mary's calm facade collapsed.

Later in July, _Lucile_, Lady Duff Gordon was invited to Downton Abbey in order to present her designs for Mary's wedding gown. Unfortunately, the bride was still gnawing at the dire warnings of Lady McNair and she had little interest in 'tempting fate' by fitting a wedding gown without having her groom safely back by her side.

Sybil, however, was very much interested in the white concoctions _Lucile_ showed them. "They're much simpler than before the war, of course, but you will find that these new fashions are very much _en vogue_ with what you saw in Paris this season." Lady Duff Gordon gushed. Cora and Violet, who were also present, looked highly uncomfortable. They did not dare tell the famous Lady that Sybil intended to marry a chauffeur...journalist.

Robert had still not given his blessing, but at this point, any resistance seemed futile. And the fear of Sybil running off and causing a scandal silenced most of their misgivings. "This would look lovely on you." Edith smiled as she held up a design for Sybil to peruse. Unbeknownst to anyone, Edith had started to harbour some very small secret hopes that she might become a bride after all...

Evelyn still wrote to her frequently and Mary seemed strangely pleased about it.

By the end of the day, Sybil had ordered a wedding gown and begged Granny to explain it to Papa, because he would surely "go berserk." They could only agree.

Mary, despite her stubborn refusal to so much as look at a white dress, had at the very last minute purchased two pieces of the naughty lingerie collection _Lucile_ was famed for. "It's not for the honeymoon...just for me." she replied testily when asked, but that evening Mary included a detailed description of the flimsy slips of silk in her letter to Matthew.

* * *

In Flanders, the front had been brewing for a while, with rumours that the Germans were planning one last desperate attack, which could only mean more senseless deaths on both sides. The officers were supposed to be vigilant and focussed, to prepare their men for the upcoming battle, to motivate and rally the forces.

Matthew could not.

He hadn't received a single letter from Mary in three weeks. Three whole weeks! He'd frantically scoured through her latest mail, for any signs of discontent or anger, but there had been none. On the contrary, there had been nothing but loving words, of the sort that he repeated in his mind as often as possible, simply to stave off the madness down here...

"Is Mr. Crawley...Mr. _Patrick_...is he still in England?" William Mason inquired one night when he saw Matthew bending over Mary's last letter again. "Huh?" Matthew gazed up at his young aide-de-camp. "I...don't know." And it occured to him that Mary had not even mentioned Patrick in her letters...

_Suspicious in itself,_ a little voice inside Matthew's mind nagged, but he pushed it far away. This was stupid. Mary must be busy with...wedding preparations. "Did Daisy mention anything unusual?" There were worrying accounts of the Spanish Flu spreading. "Everyone's in good health at Downton, aren't they?"

William nodded dumbly. "Yes, nothing out of the ordinary. They're all fine."

_No, this was not fine._ Why did she not write anymore? Was she angry, had he offended her in his last letter? Matthew tried to recover the words he had written two weeks ago. He'd only spoken of his love, how much he missed her, how he looked forward to coming back...the usual really.

He'd actually included a small poem that he'd composed for Mary, nothing fancy, but perhaps it had embarrassed her...

"Sometimes the mail goes awry." William tried, though he had to admit that if he would not get regular letters from Daisy, he'd probably be just as twitchy. Only that _now_ was hardly the right time to get anxious about things that happened beyond the narrow world of the trenches. They had an important day to prepare for...

"Don't worry." William sighed, as he cleaned away Matthew's gear. "I'm not worried!" Matthew unfairly snapped at the boy. "I'm sorry, Mason. It's just...this is the worst timing for any of this." He sat down heavily on his bunk, the letters still crumpled in his hands.

He simply couldn't afford to think of Mary _now, _a few hours before they would go over the top! The men outside expected him to lead them and motivate them, not to mope around like a sick puppy in a puddle, just because his girl had not written to him in a week or two...

_..._but_ three_...three whole weeks!

The lamp went out and Matthew tried to re-direct his mind in the darkness.

_Sleep. Rest. Find some peace. Calm down. Stay focussed. Be reasonable. Be a leader. Function. Stop thinking. Stop feeling. Stop loving..._because he would have to kill tomorrow and he would have to lead his men to get killed. Like cattle being led to the slaughterhouse...

He himself might die tomorrow.

_Oh Mary. I need you now...so very much..._

The night wasn't particularly cold, but it was raining. Tomorrow, the ground would be sodden and more impassable than ever. Matthew shivered and the wood of the bunk creaked under his nervous movements. His bones and muscles were sore, his skin itched, as he hadn't enjoyed a bath in weeks.

He finally fell asleep from exhaustion more than anything. In his restless dreams he saw scraps of a blue silken robe and underneath it, shimmering porcelain skin dusted with pale freckles. When he awoke in the early hours, his heart raced already in anticipation of what this terrible morning may bring.

Mason fastened the leather straps on his Captain's uniform. Matthew pulled himself up to his full height as he got dressed. "Am I ready?" he asked Mason, who swallowed thickly in reply. "Only you can tell, Sir." Matthew nodded curtly. He was as ready as he could be under the circumstances.

Before they left the bunker, the Captain, as perusual, slid one hand into his coat pocket to make sure that_ it_ was with him, the token of her love...

Two minutes to noon.

Captain Crawley nodded encouragingly to his men, patted some of them on the back. He spoke bravely, though the words were nothing out of the ordinary. His voice, however, always had a reassuring effect on the men.

Calm, strong and empathetic.

He was one of them and they trusted him. At least enough to follow his orders more willingly than they might have done with any other commanding officer.

Matthew checked the time on his father's old pocket watch, the cold metal whistle lodged in his mouth. He closed his eyes briefly, imagining the feel of Mary's soft rosy lips instead...

_No! Focus, goddamn it!_

Hundreds of men behind him, next to him at the ladders - waiting for their doom. William stood by his side like a loyal pet dog. If they made it out of this one, Matthew would see to it that Mason got a decent promotion at home...or he could take him on to work in his household. His and Mary's...

_Oh my darling_...

It was noon. With a harsh snap, he closed the golden watch and blew into the whistle with all his might. Matthew climbed the ladder first, William behind him. Together, they stormed ahead into the savage chaos that enfolded on the battlefield. When he fired the first shot, adrenaline coursed viciously through his body, eliminating all other thought but the most basic instincts...

* * *

The tea cup toppled over the saucer and clanked to the floor. Carson hurried over to clean up the mess, a worried expression on his stern face. Mary apologized, but was too flustered to reply to her mother and grandmother's inquiries. How could she explain what she had just felt?

A chill...and then a cramp in her right leg, followed by a sort of sinking feeling in her stomach. Was it fear? She was shivering, as if she were terribly cold, though it was a very warm day...

_Matthew._ His face had suddenly appeared behind her mind's eye. Very closely.

Patrick came over to sit next to her on the settee. His hand went out to touch her cold one, but Mary flinched and frowned at him. She stood. "I'm...I need some air." she excused herself, heading for the door. "Mary!" Cora called after her, but it was Edith who moved. Sybil followed suit.

They found their elder sister outside on the gravel path from whence she walked briskly up to the bench in the shadows of the vast trees. Edith and Sybil sat quietly to Mary's left and right, silent for as long as it took their disturbed sister to voice her troubles.

"...Papa said it's not unusual for letters to take longer when there are campaigns." Sybil tried, though she was not entirely convinced of this explanation either. "If anything had happened to him, we would know...they would have sent notice to us...or Isobel." Edith reasoned.

Mary nodded stiffly. They were right of course. Matthew must be very busy or otherwise prevented from writing. He had his duties, he had to lead his men. But _what if_ something had happened...

"I know." She tried to smile, but it seemed awkward. Looking back at the house, they could see Patrick Crawley slowly walking up the gravel path. "I wish he wasn't here." Mary mumbled. To her surprise, Edith seconded her. "He didn't lose his memory...if he did, he wouldn't have changed so much." she observed wisely.

Sybil stared at her left hand. A modest silver ring adorned it. Robert had finally been convinced to give his blessing. And now she felt bad for her own joy when both her sisters were so very unhappy. It didn't seem right. They all deserved happiness. All of them...

* * *

Matthew awoke on a stretcher. He felt terribly groggy. Swallowing thickly, he closed his eyes and tried to gather his wits as much as he could. Strange voices sounded all around him, buzzing like bees in a hive. He could not quite make out the words...

"Captain...Matthew Crawley?" Someone stepped up to his stretcher, wielding a clipboard where they scribbled down the information. Matthew nodded weakly as he attempted to focus on the man who had asked.

"You've been injured by a shell, Captain. The doctors have done what they could here...and you will be sent on to the nearest field hospital." The soldier explained curtly. He hesitated and Matthew could see he was staring at something down near his feet. It seemed as if he wanted to add more, but before he could speak, he was called away by a nurse who needed assistance. Matthew swallowed and tried to clear his head. The morphine in his system slowed down everything mind and he felt extremely drowsy. His brain worked in simple patterns...

Well, he'd survived. That was good. But he wouldn't be sent to Downton, not immediately. That was not good.

Where would they sent him though? And why? What was to be done? What about his men? What had happened to them? Mason and the others...

"Excuse me..." His tongue was still too heavy for proper articulation. Why had they drugged him? Strange, since there seemed to be no actual wounds on him.

But why did the man from the medical corps say that he _had_ been injured...

With all the strength he could muster, Matthew tensed his body, trying to feel the muscles in it. Every muscle ached. Good. He sighed in relief. This surely meant he was alright...perfectly alright...

He touched his face clumsily. Bruises and cuts, but otherwise intact. No blindness either, apart from the morphine-induced haze, he could see clearly. All the possible injuries he'd witnessed at the front or the hospital at Downton played through his mind, but none seemed to apply.

What on earth was supposed to be wrong with him? With a pang of fear, he wriggled his toes, remembering how Harrison had broken his spine in the Somme action in 1916. The man had ended up paralysed and bound to a wheelchair. Matthew panicked, but only for an instant. He could move his feet perfectly fine. Every single toe.

Suddenly, another sickening idea struck him and he quickly sneaked one hand down under the covers towards his groin to feel...

He sighed heavily with nervous relief. _That _part of him was also still in order. _Thank heavens!_ He knew of soldiers who had their male parts blown off, it wasn't uncommon. Imagine the terrible irony, Matthew thought sardonically, to come home to Mary after everything and end up emasculated...

If only he was home already...with Mary by his side.

Instead, he was surrounded by strangers who couldn't even spare the time to tell him why the hell he was here. Wincing, Matthew tried to sit up a little from where he was flat on his back. It took him some effort to bend his torso and he felt hit by a wave of dizzy faintness.

He blinked in the low lights of the dingy camp site. Injured men were laying all around him, some were writhing on their stretchers, moaning and whimpering different girls' names...though most of them were simply calling for 'Ma!'

Matthew's head swam, too afflicted by everything to bear it for long. And then his eyes fell on the stark grey woollen covers draped over his legs. He blinked in confusion. His legs looked oddly thin and cast to one side. Dislodged perhaps? He didn't understand. Pursing his lips, he tried to part them, but it wouldn't work. He pushed himself up to get a better view. Terror rose up from deep within his chest as realization finally hit...

_There was only one leg!_

Matthew twisted to the side and violently threw up onto the muddy ground beside the stretcher.

* * *

The note from the war office arrived late at night. Isobel had called Downton from the hospital at two in the morning. Dr. Clarkson had offered to drive her to the estate. She knew that the family, most especially Mary, would want to know what had happened.

"...it says he's been injured in battle, but doesn't specify." Robert read out the note to the family who had gathered in the great hall, all clad in nightgowns and robes. "Will he be sent home?" Mary stepped up to her father, barely able to contain the urge to snatch the paper out of his hands. She was shaking from head to toe. It was Isobel who replied. "I'm sure he will. Very soon." Mary only managed to nod mechanically. She pressed her lips together to stave off a mad fit of despair.

_Matthew was injured, was in pain...and she could not go to him, could not help or even console him!_

Robert could read the signs of surpressed panic cracking the veneer of his daughter's calm facade. "The main thing..." he addressed everyone, but his hand rested on Mary's back. "...is that he is alive and the injury seems to be minor." A great relief despite everything and so Lord Grantham suggested they all head back to bed.

Dr. Clarkson drove Isobel home into the village, where she preferred to join him in the nightshift at the hospital, more out of a desire for company and distraction, rather than duty. They discussed the imminent end of the war, while Clarkson assured her that Matthew would at least not be expected to go back to the front again.

At four in the morning, Mary was still up and pacing the thick carpet in her bedroom. Her brain was in turmoil. Fear and worry practically ate her up...while a small part of her also rejoiced in the fact that Matthew was at least alive and would be sent home for sure. 'Invalided out' meant that was free of his duties...

The door creaked open very quietly and a bleary eyed Sybil crept in. "I can hear you moving around." she croaked sleepily. The look on her elder sister's beautiful face arrested Sybil on the spot. "Oh Mary..." She walked over and took her cold hand. "I'm sure, he's alright...the injury isn't serious, so don't fret. He might have been grazed by something...or broken a finger." Sybil smiled, though she was of course in no position to make such predictions.

Still, Mary greedily accepted her sister's reassurances, wanting to believe them more than anything.

"Come...try to sleep." Sybil led her over to the bed, insisting that Mary lay down. She tucked the blankets around her body and sat down on the edge, making Mary smile. "Thank you, Nurse Crawley..." They both chuckled. "You'll be a wonderful mother." Mary remarked and Sybil blushed. Tom was expected back at Downton in a week. It made her nervous.

"Do you think Papa will change his mind about Tom?" She whispered. "No." Mary answered truthfully.

And yet, the date was set. Tom Branson, the former chauffeur, would marry Lady Sybil Crawley in Downton church this September. "Are you sad that it will be kept quiet?" Mary wondered.

There hadn't even been an announcement in the papers and only ten invitations had gone out. Four to Ireland and six on the Grantham's side. It would be a shamefully small affair, but that was the whole point. If it had to happen, it would happen on the sly. Granny's words.

"Not a bit, to be honest. And certainly not after today." Sybil shook her head vehemently. "I just want to be married to Tom. I don't care about the whole wedding circus." Mary pulled a face at this candid declaration. It sounded reasonable, albeit a bit sad. "What do these things matter nowadays? Dresses and decorations...guests you don't even recognize let alone care about...or presents..." Sybil huffed. "It's love that makes it all worthy."

"You're perfectly right..." Mary nodded slowly, but drifted off. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. All she could see behind her closed lids was an injured Matthew laying somewhere in a ditch...

Sybil _was_ right. As a young girl, Mary had always pictured a lavish wedding as an Earl's daughter and the bride of a future Earl. And she could have attained that goal: with Evelyn or with Patrick. "What's so funny?" Sybil cocked her head aside curiously. Mary stifled her chuckle and looked up into her little sister's bright eyes.

"You'll marry a journalist and I'll be the wife of a country solicitor...and we're both idiotically happy about it. What has happened to the world?" They both had to clap hands over their mouths as Sybil began to laugh as well. Nerves were making them both a little hysterical, albeit for different reasons.

A little while later, Mary fell asleep with the absolute conviction that no matter what, she would get her happiness with Matthew. She_ would_ get it, no matter how many more obstacles they threw in her way!

Now that the war was over for Matthew, he would come home to her...

* * *

September, 1918 – Dover.

Captain Napier had spotted him by chance when walking into _Tiernan's Pub_ on the docksides of Dover. He had just arrived with a ferry from Calais and was looking for some rest and perhaps a drink to calm himself. With a grim expression, he nodded to the barman, an Irish fellow, and tried to ignore the urge to glance once more into the dark corner where he had made out the all too familiar face. For a split second, he felt the old resentment re-ignite inside him and he was sorely tempted to simply turn on his heel and leave the public house altogether.

_Crawley. _

He sat slumped over in one niche of the crowded pub. Evelyn flinched as he stepped closer and took in the shell of a man whose eyes were bleary and blood-shot, trying to focus on a scrap of paper where he scribbled something on the table in front of him. He closed his lids then as if he were in pain.

Captain Napier scoffed inwardly at the dramatic gesture. _Must be a letter to Mary..._

"Crawley?" Evelyn cleared his throat as he approached him warily. "What are you..." He wanted to ask why he was hanging around this dingy pub in Dover, when he was obviously on leave and could be back at Downton. _With _Mary.

However, the sight that offered itself to him then explained matters a lot more eloquently than words ever could.

The blonde head turned up and the lids fluttered open, revealing the same unnervingly blue stare which Evelyn still resented. "I'm enjoying the end of war." Matthew drawled and a bitter smile grazed his pinched lips. He moved a little in his seat, in what seemed to be an effort try and hide his injury under the table...

Evelyn Napier tried not to stare. But sometimes the things that are amiss are the ones that are begging for our attention. So he stared and Matthew let him. Perhaps he thought that his former rival enjoyed the sight. A cruel sort of justice for what Matthew had supposedly done to him...what he had _taken _from him.

_A woman for a leg..._

Evelyn shuddered. He did not enjoy it. But he did not feel overwhelmed with pity either. Not when there were men who had lost their lives in battle...or had their entire faces blown off, their eyesight blinded or paid with their sanity.

Well, they had all lost the latter over there, more or less.

"If Mary knew you were here..."

Matthew twitched at the sound of her name. He closed his eyes again, very briefly. It seemed to calm him, whatever he imagined behind his lids. When he spoke, his voice sounded like cracked glass. "She _knows_...but...she hasn't written back. I've sent her letters..." He trailed off.

It was true. In a weak moment, Matthew had allowed himself to be selfish...

It had been in the field hospital while he was still tucked into his bed to recover. The amputation was healing well, though he had a hard time rejoicing about that. The bed next to him had just been occupied by a new arrival. A young officer who had suffered a severe back injury in a shelling. He'd been laying flat on his back and couldn't move a limb. When they had told him about his condition, the soldier had been silent for two days and on the third had started to scream and cry.

Matthew had witnessed all this silently and for the first time he had begun to think that perhaps he _had_ been lucky after all. On the fourth day, the young officer, who went by the name of Edwards, had noticed Matthew and asked what exactly was his injury like. When Matthew showed him, Edwards fell silent again.

On the fifth day, Matthew had to turn away from the sight of a young Lady who came hurrying to the bed of his paralysed neighbour. Edwards had a fiancée as well. To Matthew, the pain of witnessing their reunion was unspeakable as he thought of Mary and the plain fact of her absence.

_Surely, someone must have told her he was here...there must have been a telegram...so why isn't she coming...or writing to him at least? _

He couldn't understand it, but he didn't have the heart to write and beg her to come either...because there was a chance that she knew and simply chose to stay away. France was far off and dangerous, perhaps she did not fancy the journey. And it was better this way, he kept telling himself. Better for her. Better not to let her see him like this, not to burden her with his condition...

Matthew had turned back towards Edwards as soon as he'd heard his fiancée had left. To his surprise, the young man appered to be even more miserable after this visit.

"Do you have a wife, Captain?" Edwards, who was a Lieutenant, asked. Matthew bit his lip and closed his eyes. "No..." he said bleakly. "But you _can_ have one, if you wanted to. There are so many girls out there. You _can_ marry one of them and...love her...and make children with her..._you_ _can_."

Matthew blushed and his glance involuntarily fell to the paralysed soldier's middle section, which was as limp and lifeless as the rest of his body. Never to be with a woman, never to move again...

He'd lost his leg, which was excruciating...but the boy had lost a lot more. Edwards laughed bitterly. "I used to be afraid of being injured...now I wouldn't give a fuck if my legs or arms were blown off, _anything_ but this! Funny isn't it?" He cackled again and it started to border on hysterical.

Matthew flinched, not knowing how to reply. That night, he had fallen asleep clutching all of Mary's things to his chest. Her photograph, with one corner missing. The little dog, unscathed but shamefully dirty. And the handkerchief that smelled more of his own stench now than of Mary's delicate perfume.

Tomorrow he wanted to write and ask her to be with him, no matter what. And so he did...but once again, there was no reply. Nothing. They had finally sent him home after another week, but instead of taking the train straight to Downton, Matthew had remained in Dover, bitter and a little forlorn. He didn't know what to do anymore.

Somewhere in his mind, he had dimly recalled that it was here right off the coast where Mary had found him last winter, where he had been delirious with fever in the back of a truck and she had come to him...

Evelyn returned from the bar with two stiff drinks and sat down heavily across from Matthew. Without a word they both drained their glasses, shivering as the alcohol shot through their sore bodies and numb minds. The war was over for both of them. And soon for all the other poor devils...

"Are you on leave?" Matthew mumbled. "No...I was sent home. My shoulder wound played up again..." Evelyn made a sign to the Irishman behind the counter. "Two more, please."

Matthew shifted as his pale eyes fixed on Napier's shoulder, then drifted over to the wall where his crutches were resting. He cursed under his breath, sure that Napier could not even begin to comprehend how much he envied him, having only a blighty on his shoulder!

Their whiskeys arrived and the two men drank in silence for a while.

"Why are you hiding from her? I thought you loved her _so very much_..." Evelyn muttered into his drink, almost inaudibly, though Matthew heard him loud and clear. He slammed his glass down so hard that it shattered on the hard wood of the table. "Of course I love her...it's _because_ I love her that..." Matthew stopped himself and looked around.

Hardly anyone had paid attention to his fit. Most men in here had their own troubles.

"I'm hiding...to protect her, alright?" He fixed Napier with an intense glare. "I cannot...I _must_ not burden her with this!" Matthew growled and his fist came down on his right thigh, punching the severed limb in a savage manner. It was still a gross and alien sight to him, even after all these weeks. How could he possibly expose Mary to it then?

Evelyn Napier's only response was to shrug and drink up. "You can get an artificial limb, can't you?" He pointed at the knee, where Matthew's khaki pants were folded and pinned together. Matthew blinked at him and licked his lips. A flow of rude comments were on the tip of his tongue, but he remembered his mother's firm voice telling him to mind his language, always. "Obviously." he said testily as he made space for a grumpy looking bar maid who came to clean up the mess he'd made on the table.

"So...you think Mary can't handle it." Evelyn shook his head sadly. "And I thought you knew her better than I do." He pulled out his silver engraved cigarette case and held it out to Matthew. A small piece offering, but Captain Crawley declined and merely watched him with narrowed eyes as he lit up.

When Matthew spoke next, it sounded as if he had to force out every single word.

"Mary...has already had enough disappointments...giving up Downton in favour of a middle class life..." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. "...and all she gets for it in turn...is a _cripple _for a husband!" Matthew spat out the last bit and watched for Napier's reaction.

_Would he be gleeful about this outcome?_

Napier rubbed his slightly bleary eyes and leaned over towards Matthew. "You're underestimating her, you know...like I had underestimated you. I didn't think you were anywhere near her league...or that she could fall in love with someone who trampled on her feet during a waltz."

Matthew snorted despite himself. Evelyn was referring to an embarrassing moment at Sybil's ball in 1914 where he had been so nervous, holding Mary in his arms for the first time, that he repeatedly trod on her feet. And she had been so gracious about it, laughing and flirting as if nothing untoward had occured. The memory faded away into darkness as Matthew recalled that he would never again be able to dance with Mary...

"My point is, I've been wrong." Napier smiled wrily, still full of conviction that it had been the right decision to let her go. "Mary won't be happy with anyone else...as long as you walked the earth...on one leg or two, it doesn't matter." Evelyn shrugged and nodded towards the stump on Matthew's thigh.

For the first time, it seemed as if his drinking companion was actually listening.

"I..." Matthew swallowed thickly and covered his eyes with one hand. He did not want to go to pieces in front of the other man, but Napier's words had touched him deeply and he finally allowed himself the tiniest glimmer of hope. "_I _feel like that about her...but...how can I possibly...I don't want to make her unhappy, to force her to always be with a crip..." He checked himself this time. "An invalid. If I could give her Downton at least...or the means to..."

Evelyn sniffed to interrupt this miserable spiral. "You know, Mary used to brag about you, even while she was _my_ fiancée." That got Matthew's attention. "'Why don't you ask my cousin Matthew?' she would say, 'Matthew's _terribly_ clever.'" Evelyn rolled his eyes. "She seriously thought you were brilliant enough to lead the country...and she still does."

Matthew flushed pink and couldn't help the smug grin that spread over his glum features. He tried to hide it, but Napier did not seem offended. "Well then, if Mary believes that you're clever enough to provide for her, why don't you?"

Their eyes met and Matthew's lips twitched once more. His heart was thudding and he could feel unbidden waves of joy and hope seep through every fibre of his being. He rung with himself. It was wrong to hope and he shouldn't let Napier manipulate him into being..._selfish_.

But what if he was right and he could make Mary happy after all? God, he wanted to try. So badly.

Napier left the table and came back with two more glasses of amber coloured liquor from the bar. Matthew accepted it gratefully. Something had just occured to him. "I should've listened to Robert...perhaps we ought to have invested in that Canadian railway after all..."

Evelyn nearly choked on his drink. He coughed and wiped the drops off his chin. "_Good God_! Not that foolish scheme Patrick Crawley came up with!" he exclaimed indignantly. Matthew blinked at him in surprised confusion. "Yes...how do you know? Did...did Mary tell you?" The idea hurt, considering that he himself had not received a single letter from Mary in over a month.

Yet another painful reason for him to stay away from her...if she didn't care to keep in contact.

"Err...no. I've just heard about it." Evelyn said evasively. It was his turn to blush now. Edith had asked him not to tell anyone about their correspondence. "But speaking of...are you going to leave Mary to the likes of _Patrick Crawley_? Because last time I was in London, I was being treated to some rather terrible information about your long lost cousin..."

Matthew's ears perked up at once and he leaned in closer. Evelyn drank up and licked his lips.

"According to an acquaintance of mine, who's currently lodging in the _Savoy_, Patrick Crawley got somewhat...inebriated one night and bragged to him that he never actually lost his memory. When the ship sank and he got stranded in Canada, he deliberately took on a false name...Patrick Gordon or so. He confessed that he'd been _sick_ of being the 'heir' and all the duties that came with it..."

Both men shook their heads in disbelief. What 'came with it' was also Mary.

"...well, Mary had never been very keen on marrying Patrick, to say the least. But Edith..." Evelyn stopped himself abruptly and nearly clasped a hand over his mouth. Perhaps he should have skipped that last drink or two. Matthew gaped at him. "But why is he back now? He's made his own fortune over in Canada, I understand." Unless, what he wants is Mary...after all. Matthew trembled slightly in his seat.

"Oh, he still wants Downton...and the title. It's his birth right. At the _Savoy_, he said that news reached him last winter, that the Earl of Grantham was struck down with pneumonia and not likely to survive it." The pieces of the puzzle fell together in Matthew's mind...

_Pneumonia...last winter...Downton train station...the stranger..._

"That's why he was there!" Matthew hissed. "He thought it was _Robert_ who had pneumonia...and he came to cash in his inheritance." The notion suddenly filled him with fury. All those years, he'd left them in the belief that he had died, let them mourn him and establish a new heir in his stead...

Evelyn nodded grimly. "Yes...he just wanted to have a good time over in Canada, but he would have come back the moment Mary's father died. So the entail would _never_ have mattered for you...or Mary." He leaned back in his chair, equally disgusted with the whole story. He'd already written to Edith about it once he'd been told.

Matthew was silent and his expression darkened into something menacing. His mind was reeling madly...

Patrick was there now...with Mary, with them all! Like a serpent in the garden. Trying to manipulate Robert into a foolish investment, because he had nothing to lose in it! The title was all he wanted. He never cared about the rest. He never cared about the future of Downton or the Granthams...or about Mary! If he could leave them for six years and live happily in the knowledge that they think him dead!

He didn't love them...oh, but Matthew did. He loved Mary, so very much...his darling...his wife, whatever may have happened this would never Change! And her family...it was _his_ family now and Downton, her home... was _his_ home as well!

_His_...not bloody Patrick's! And he'd be damned if he let the bastard get away with this farce!

Matthew wanted to jump of his seat, but the liquor and the new imbalance in his physique brought him down to earth again. "I'm on my way to Yorkshire now...perhaps you'd care to join me after all." Evelyn smiled, satisfied as he took in Matthew's rightful rage, the evident desire to fight it out with his conniving cousin.

But that fire was quickly dampened when Matthew sank down and clutched viciously at his ruined leg.

"If only..." He drawled, the whiskey had made his tongue as heavy as Napier's. "She'll be horrified when she sees me." Matthew lamented. The alcohol was making him voice his anguish a lot more openly than he probably would have done otherwise. "It's revolting. And I fear...what if she thinks I'm...only half a man now!"

Matthew hid his face behind his hands. Evelyn was silent, actually at a loss. Truth be told, if he _were_ in Crawley's place, he'd probably be just as despondent. "...even if she wouldn't say so. I couldn't bear it." Matthew's voice sounded muffled and rough.

In one corner of the pub, an elderly man with a bowler hat sat hunched over his pint of ale. He blew his reddened nose noisily into a dirty handkerchief. Evelyn watched him with mild amusement and an idea struck him. He'd come too far in convincing Crawley to get over his stupid insecurities to leave it at that now...

"Well, if you're not coming...will you at least write a few lines for Mary, so I can give them to her? It might help her in her current state." The rough noises that emanated from behind Matthew's hands stopped immediately. He reappeared, his eyes blood-shot and wide with worry. "What state?"

Evelyn looked uncomfortable. He scratched his brow. "Look...I didn't want to upset you in your own condition, but Mary's sister wrote to me and she's extremely worried..." He shifted in his chair, waiting for dramatic emphasis. Matthew looked ready to explode. "What? Tell me!"

"Mary isn't well at all...and you know that _ghastly_ Spanish flu is going around."

Within seconds, Matthew flew out of his seat, accidentally knocking over everything that was on the table, only to take a topple and landing on the sticky wooden floor of the pub. Both men cursed even as Evelyn tried to help him up. But Matthew's humiliation only lasted for a few seconds. Blind fear and panic obliterated everything else...

_Mary was ill! His Darling was suffering...she needed him! The Spanish flu! That dangerous epidemic...God, what if..._

"We're going to Downton! Now!" He barked at Napier. "Where are my damn sticks?" Evelyn handed the crutches to Matthew, who went off at a remarkable speed, considering his obvious handicap. There was no stopping him as he hobbled through the crowd and out into the fresh night air.

Evelyn grinned as he hurried after Matthew. Of course it was a mean trick he'd played, but he hadn't been lying, not exactly. He'd only_ misguided _him a little, because in one of her letters, Edith had indeed mentioned that Mary was feeling unwell...

...only that it wasn't exactly the Spanish flu. Merely her annual bout of hay fever.

* * *

_**A/N:** It's slowly wrapping up, guys! A happy end is nigh and I hope this wasn't too much of a shock with Matthew's injury. I know the war theme is horrific and it was really difficult to write. I didn't want to go down the 'spinal injury' road, but this still being an angsty war fic, I felt that there had to be some feasible repercussions of the war and so this happened. But__ out boys have all survived it and so the angstiest part is finally over, means there will be mainly fluff from here on out...and no shortage of it :)_

_Thanks so much for reading and for all your support with this story. Again, sorry for the big hiatus, but now I've got some time to finish it properly, so happily, there will be much quicker updates until it's all done!_

_Next chapter: A wedding (or maybe two?), Patrick learns not to mess with the Crawley girls and Matthew may be very pleasantly surprised after all.._


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